<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Kings and Killers by Persiago</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132641">Kings and Killers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiago/pseuds/Persiago'>Persiago</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout 3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angry Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Relationships, Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, POV First Person, Raiders, Sort Of, grenades are the answer to everything, injuries, some amount of homophobia, they all fuckin swear a lot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:28:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiago/pseuds/Persiago</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A raider named Jose thinks he has life by the balls, and he's the top dog, the king on top of the food chain, until an unfortunate encounter with the trigger-happy Lone Wanderer forces him to question his whole life and morals. And he hates every second of it. Until he doesn't.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Male Lone Wanderer/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Who the fuck carries mines in their backpacks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Being a raider makes you feel like a king. You can do whatever you like, whenever you like. Fucking people up, killing, looting, destroying things... you name it. Once you have that combat shotgun in your hand, the whole world seems to be bowing at your feet. You don't have to take shit from anybody. We occupy any place habitable, killing and robbing any travelers so unfortunate to pass our way. Shacks, caves, run-down buildings, they make our kingdom. Of course life ain't easy in Capital Wasteland, but hell if I'm gonna complain. If you ain't a raider, you could be a slave, or mindless ghoul or worse, long killed by some super mutant. </p><p> </p><p>Yep, it really makes you feel like a king... until some other king comes along. I've been to some pretty hairy situations, like running into giant radscorpions or other beasts, even ran into some super mutants once or twice. But we ain't so bad ourselves either, when we raiders stick together. </p><p> </p><p>At least when there are still other raiders alive. </p><p> </p><p>Jax and Harkin are lying dead on the side of the half-burned shack, Jax's body still twitching, their faces smashed in. Lionel was the first to die, the poor bastard was only equipped with a knife. And Anette too, limbs torn from the blast of a grenade. I'm the only one left. And I find myself being scared shitless for my life, even though I’m up against only one man. </p><p> </p><p>Half gasping, half sobbing from the pain - the fucker put a bullet straight into my upper arm, I'm crouching on the side of the burned-down house. I can hear his footsteps, <em> tap tap </em> fucking <em> tap </em>. He takes his time to come and finish me off. I don't understand how he sneaked right under our noses without anyone noticing anything, it's one fucking building in the middle of nowhere. The fact that he looks exactly like a raider, gave more reason for confusion in the first seconds he opened fire. And hell he's good with a gun. I barely escaped his bullets. </p><p> </p><p>And I don't want to die. I can't, I won't. </p><p> </p><p>"P-please, don't kill me", I find myself croaking before I can stop. Jax would've laughed his ass off if he saw me now. One worthless raider begging for his worthless life. I was supposed to be better than this. </p><p> </p><p>The footsteps cease.</p><p> </p><p>"Come out where I can see you." The voice doesn't sound that hostile, although he just murdered four people in cold blood. I lift to my shaky legs and take five steps forward, five hesitant steps that could be my last. I walk into the open and seeing the bodies again makes it all very real. I fall to my knees, shaking, gripping desperately my wounded arm. </p><p> </p><p>He is standing less than ten feet from me, pointing that rifle at me with a steady arm. </p><p> </p><p>"Drop the weapon", he orders. I forgot I even had that worthless thing still in my hand. It hits the ground with a heavy thud so loud I'm afraid he will kill me on the spot. </p><p> </p><p>"Please, please, spare my life", I stutter incoherently. Jax has finally stopped moving and it's all very quiet. I can feel my arm pulsing and warm blood is dripping down my bicep. The man doesn't say anything, he just walks closer. One step. Two. Three. I can't read what he's thinking, if he does feel uncertainty at all. He sticks the rifle so close to my face I can smell the faint stench of gunpowder.</p><p> </p><p>"I-I don't want to die", the last word dies off. The world has narrowed down to this, the fucking terror and the barrel of the gun. You know how they say you can see your life flash before your eyes in a moment this? Bullshit. Every shuddering breath I take rings painfully in my ears and the smell of blood and fear fills my lungs. That's all. </p><p> </p><p>And then the barrel is gone. It's gone. </p><p> </p><p>The world is spinning and suddenly the ground is too close. I catch my fall with my healthy arm, trying to regain any piece of self-control I still hope to possess.  Rather than seeing, I feel him take my gun quickly, and no, shamefully I admit I didn't even think of committing some last act of heroism by taking the gun and shooting him, before he could put a bullet between my eyes. My heart is still beating way too fast and way too loud, but I feel slowly control coming back to my limbs. </p><p> </p><p>"Well then raider... what do you propose I do with you?" Again, his voice doesn't carry any sign of malice, it sounds more like he's amused. The fucker is mocking me. I finally dare to look beyond the barrel and examine the man. He has oriental features, like Chinese or Japanese or whatever. A faded bluish Mohawk and he's dressed like one of us. Fucking weirdo. And no scratch on him at all, even though he was heavily outnumbered. Jax and Anette and the rest didn't have a chance. The way the man carries himself tells me he ain't scared of us. He can’t be that much older than me, but there’s a hardened look about him, which only comes from endlessly surviving the wilderness of the wasteland.</p><p> </p><p>"You could...let me go", I propose weakly. He actually laughs, but he's still watching me warily like he's waiting for me to do something drastic. Hell, I ain't gonna take my chances against that rifle. </p><p> </p><p>"For what? You could continue your happy existence as a raider?" </p><p> </p><p>"I- I could take you our secret ammo stash. It-it's not far from here and Jax had the key, I could-"</p><p> </p><p>"You think I'm that stupid?" The amusement is gone from his voice and I find myself again in the uncomfortable position of looking directly at the point of his gun. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, I'm sorry okay! Just- just take it easy. I ain't gonna do anything, okay? I just... please, don't point that gun in my face." I'm rambling, I know. Nerves do that to me. Guns too. The man steps back, scowling. I know my chances of survival just lowered. Need to play this nice and easy. It's just my hands are shaking so bad, I can't concentrate.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm in the middle of fucking nowhere and you're worth nothing to me alive. I know there's a bounty for raiders, but that applies to the dead ones. Tell me one good reason why I should spare you." </p><p> </p><p>The words take a second to sink in. No. This ain't going so well as it did few seconds ago. </p><p> </p><p>"What, are you going to kill me just like that?" I squeak out, trying not to panic. If I try to take his gun, he'll kill me before I can spell out "I'm dead". If I try to run, maybe I can make a dash to some cover, but I know for a fact he has a good aim. "Look, take me to some settlement like Rivet City and they can decide what to do with me, please?" Need to buy some time. I don't want to die here, forgotten by rest of the world. My tombstone would say 'Unknown coward, probably squealed like a pig when slaughtered'. </p><p> </p><p>"Rivet City, huh..." My captor raises his eyebrows. I can tell he knows exactly what I'm after. "It's a six days travel to Rivet City from here, seven days with you. And you'll probably die before that." I've never been so desperate in my life. Possibly for the last time ever. </p><p> </p><p>"Please, this is all I'm asking! Maybe someone will need a hand with some machines, I'm pretty good at tinkering with weapons or-" </p><p> </p><p>"Shut it!" He almost growls. I've ran out of my supply of pleading. I comply his command, trying push back the thought I'm going to die in the most miserable way ever. The setting sun is coloring the young man in shades of orange and red. Warm colors, even though I feel cold as ice. </p><p> </p><p>"This is getting ridiculous. Get up." Shit. I've pissed him off. My legs won't obey me, so it's a bit of a struggle to get up. He quickly ties my wrists together with a coarse rope. A chilly, numbing sensation is filling every part of me. It's no use. I hope he'll kill me humanely, at least. He points his rifle to the direction he wants me to go, and I start taking shaky steps forward, drops of fresh blood marking my path. I can hear his footsteps behind me, silently haunting me.</p><p> </p><p>"You're going to Megaton. They'll decide whether to kill you."</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>Step after step after step. We seem to have walked for eternity. It must be well after midnight, the weak glow from the moon as the only source of light in the dark, is casting distorted shadows on the brown, dry ground. My captor knows these lands well, every path and rock, so we make our journey slowly but surely. He seems to have adopted the survival skills of the wasteland better than me; every now and then comes a pause and he's checking for footsteps, noises, anything. </p><p> </p><p>I don't really care, I just want to lay down and drink whiskey or anything to dull the pain in my arm. The dirty, crudely made bandage at least stopped the bleeding, but the bullet is still buried deep in my flesh. But I’m not gonna show this fucker how much it really hurts. I won't stop unless he stops first. I don't know where this stubbornness comes from, maybe I'm trying to regain any piece of self-worth that's still left in me. Right now, I just feel so stupid and embarrassed about earlier. Jesus, I was fucking crying. I've never used the word 'please' so many times I tried persuading him. I don't want to admit it, but the point of this whole thing is starting to seem so ridiculous. I mean, is my existence really that much worth? To him, to me? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that he didn't put a 5.56 mm bullet between my eyes, but they are probably going to kill me once we reach that place Megaton. I've never been even in the vicinity of that area, organized settlements means too much trouble for raiders, so I have no idea what I’m up against. They could be lunatics. Or slavers. Touché. I really, really gotta escape the second this fucker lets his guard down.</p><p> </p><p>I’ve been watching the asshole very closely, trying to find any weak points, he needs to sleep at some point. But for now, he just keeps going and going behind me, without any sign of tiredness. The suppressing silence leaves me too much time to think about what happened earlier. I feel burning hatred, I feel confused. Numb. This guy just killed my friends. Well, I would count Lionel and Anette as friends, Harkin and Jax just loved the killing more than anything else. I spent time with these guys for over six months and now it's just gone. Anette was a sassy piece of a lady, and Lionel and me used to always drink and clown around together. I feel the losses, but more than that, I’m terrified for my future. There are so many feelings inside me trying to surface at the same time, it feels like a swirling hurricane. Sadness, anger, fear, toppled with this numbness, like a local anesthesia injected directly into my mind.</p><p> </p><p>I wish I would have the courage to ask, <em> no </em>, yell at him, why the hell did he have to come and ruin my life. I want to turn around, punch him in the throat and shoot him in the fucking face. He could’ve just let me go. He could’ve just walked past us. But he chose to slaughter us. I want to tell how much of a psychopath he is. But something about this man tells me that his tolerance for people who annoy him, is very low. And it might be I want to live. For now. Who knows what kind of maniacs or revenge-ridden settlers are waiting for me in Megaton. The asshole hasn't said a word after he told me of his sudden decision to spare me, so the uncertainty is growing inside me. Too much to think about. And I really, really don't want to reflect on all of this anymore. </p><p> </p><p>I almost slip on the rocky surface, balancing precariously with my tied hands. The way uphill is treacherous, and I can’t see for shit in the dark. Cool breeze is blowing through the stone formations, sounding like melancholic whistling. It feels chilling against the cold sweat on my skin. We continue higher and higher, until the chirping of the crickets fades. Just total silence. After a time which seems like eternity -I counted it by the throbbing in my arm- he tells me to stop. He points his gun at a little groove on the side of the rock. I obey him wordlessly, without any effort to rebel against his orders, because <em> fuck </em> I’m tired. I slump against the stone without any grace in my movements, just so damn relieved to finally rest a while. </p><p> </p><p>He follows me closely, kneeling before me, gun still ready in his grip. This close I can make out the rigged lines of scars on his cheek, chin and arms. Not so untouchable after all, eh? I feel enlightened for a heartbeat, thinking how this bastard has gotten few good beatings while waltzing around with that cocky face of his. He frees my hands quickly, and I snag back my hands to massage the rope burns, glaring at him.</p><p> </p><p>"Show me your arm", he tells me quietly. I level an angry look at him, but his expression doesn’t shift at all, he just waits until I finally start to undress the wound with fumbling fingers, revealing the bloody, swollen bullet hole. Don't tell me he's actually gonna treat it? My best guess is he's carrying some bone saw in that heavy backpack of his, and they are going to call me the one-armed coward after this night. He examines the wound carefully, his unreadable expression never changing. I'm not gonna like this, I just know it. He sees my suspicious face and frowns.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not going to kill you, alright? I just need to take the bullet out."</p><p> </p><p>"You dig bullets from all the other corpses too, or am I a special case?" Pathetic attempt at sarcasm. I can't show him my increasing nervousness. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, ha ha. Just the ones I have to keep alive. I’ll give you something to drink, it'll help dull the pain." He doesn't even look at me, concentrating on searching his worn-out backpack. This would be a perfect opportunity to knock him out. I tense minutely, observing him closely, but his attention snaps back to me at once. “You really want to try me?” He asks, raising his eyebrow challengingly. </p><p> </p><p>“You can’t blame me for trying, you asshole.” I snap at him, but settle back against the rocks. Not now. Not yet. He holds up a bottle of whiskey, displeased frown on his face. Normally alcohol would be a very welcome sight, but right now I can't honestly rejoice about it. It’s probably poisoned anyway. Oh well. He uncorks it and I take a long sip from the bottle, while he searches for more equipment. Leather belt, pincers, needle, and more stuff I don't have a name for. The alcohol tastes warm and bitter, and soon I start feeling light-headed. Hot sensation spreads through my limbs, lingering in my wound, burning it. I try not to think he's gonna stick most of that nasty looking stuff in me in just few moments. The man positions some sort of self-made lantern close to me and gives me the belt. He seems so used to this, I almost feel reassured. Almost. </p><p> </p><p>"Bite down on this, I don't want you alerting every monster in the surrounding area." I do as he says, sinking my teeth into the dry, chappy leather. I hope he knows what he's doing. I really do. First he cleans the wound and I try not to make a sound when he wipes the caked blood around the wound with gentle fingers. Then he takes the pincers and I realize I don't want to witness any more of this. I close my eyes and brace myself for the inevitable pain. I promise myself I won't scream. Few seconds pass in silence and then suddenly, something hot and sharp pokes my wound, digging deeper and prodding around in search of the bullet. I try to concentrate on the bitter taste of leather in my mouth, the rocks beneath me, my nails digging in my palms. It feels like he’s trying to detach the whole arm, the way it's on fire. I feel every little movement of the pincers inside the wound and I try to tell myself it will be over soon. Everything else fades away but the agony just grows, pulsing erratically, violently. And then it's over. For a moment I can't see anything, there are tears in my eyes. I inhale shakily, I didn't even notice holding my breath. But I didn't make a sound. The pain is settling down, throbbing in the rhythm of my heartbeat. Fresh blood is running down my arm and the man quickly wipes it away, still quiet. It bothers me I can't find any kind of emotion reflected in his eyes, not hatred, nor even a glint of empathy. He dresses the wound again in clean linen and leans back, sighing. </p><p> </p><p>"I guess you'll live. I injected a stimpak into the wound too, although it's probably more than you deserve." For a second, I'm actually taken by a surprise. Stimpaks are valuable and hard to come by, and he just wasted one on me? </p><p> </p><p>“Well, seeing as how you fucked up my arm in the first place, it’s only fair.” My voice comes across a bit shaky, but slowly regaining my usual sass.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t push your luck, raider. I’m not above killing you on the spot.” He sounds vaguely threatening, but I know he wouldn’t waste medical supplies on someone, just to execute them five minutes later.  I scoff and roll my eyes, settling back more comfortably, cradling my injured arm. The man gets up stiffly, grabbing his rifle and sits down heavily on a nearby rock. "We'll leave in four hours, you should get some rest." I stare at him for few minutes, trying to gauge his thoughts, but failing at that. He’s completely blank. </p><p> </p><p>"So. We’re gonna spend a lot of time together, so do you prefer some actual name, or do I just call you an asshole?" I ask him. He glances at me, expression saying he doesn't want to do any favors for me anymore. </p><p> </p><p>"Falcon", he replies curtly, fixing his gaze to the darkness. Falcon, huh. What a douchebag, hippie name. He doesn't ask for my name. I settle against the rocks, trying to ignore my aching arm. He didn’t even bother binding my hands again.</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>"So, what brought you here so far back in the wastes?" Striking for some conversation with Falcon is like hitting a rocks against concrete and hoping that some pretty roses would bloom. Falcon trails quietly behind me and just when I think he's going to ignore me, he answers gruffly.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm doing some mapping. As a job."</p><p> </p><p>"Job? You're getting paid for that?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yep." Silence continues as we travel across the wilderness. This far away from the capital city area, signs of pre-war life are practically nonexistent. Couple of ruined houses and some old roads. Far to the left I can make the outlines of a broken bridge. I'm trying to enjoy the warmth of the afternoon sun as long as possible, the nights are so damn cold out here. I'm feeling better already, I guess this man's medical experience and the stimpak did the job. All praise my saviour. He still hasn’t shown any signs of weariness, trekking behind me in a steady pace. </p><p> </p><p>"You're some kind of merc or something? Like Talon company?" Harkin did always complain how I can't keep my mouth shut. I reckon I'm just wasting my breath here, but annoying the shit out of him could prove useful.</p><p> </p><p>"Nope, I've killed every Talon merc I've seen." Again, not the answer that I'm hoping for. I've never liked wandering in the wasteland, the signs of withered trees and grass, and the almost complete destruction of civilization just gets me down. Not to speak of all the fucking beasts out here, I've seen only some and heard of more, and I definitely don't want to come to face to face with them. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly Falcon hisses quietly, yanking me behind a big rock before I can realize what the hell is going on. </p><p> </p><p>"Wha-" He quickly silences me. His armor digs into my side, and this close I smell the sweat on his dusty skin. Are there some beasts? Or raiders? I can read the slight nervousness from his face and I start to get really worried. I just had go and think about monsters.</p><p> </p><p>"Deathclaw." He whispers the word so silently it's only a breath. Fuck. We are done for. Until this moment the only living things we've encountered have been some dogs, and for some reason they didn't attack us. Deathclaw, that's on whole another level though. I've heard the stories and seen some mutilated victims of these things. They say it can outrun any man and kill him with just one slash of its sharp claws. Falcon leans against the rock and weighs the assault rifle in his hand. He swallows loudly, closing his eyes for a moment. I'm trying to decide whether to run or hide. Each option could end very badly. He leans close to me and clasps my arm tightly, like he's reading my thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>"We can't hope to run from this. It has probably smelled us already." The feeling of impending doom fills me. And then, all of a sudden, he hands me a 10mm pistol. What the hell, is he asking me to kill him or what? Is he just stupid or really stupid? I look at him in dismay. Falcon doesn’t look like he’s preparing for death. He looks almost jittery.</p><p> </p><p>"If I die, try to cripple it first and then aim for the head. You have better chance to survive, because it slows it down." What the fuck? He just looks at me with this slightly crazed expression, eyes shining like he’s a junkie and he just spotted his next dose of Jet.</p><p> </p><p>"And if you try to kill me, I'm seriously going to fuck you up. Stay here", He whispers and rises. And then he's gone. No way. He's gonna sacrifice himself? Or is he expecting me to join his heroic fight? I consider it for a second, but my legs won't move.<em> Run away, you fucking loser. </em> I was never a frontline soldier, on my bad days I almost screwed it up and couldn't manage to hit anything. Sniping from a distance felt more comfortable and safer choice for me. But I've never went up against enemy like this, with so few in numbers. I clutch the gun in my hand and try to burrow against the rock, so I would be at least partially hidden. Weak attempt, but man's gotta try. Maybe he'll manage to kill it. Maybe they'll kill each other so I can take Falcon's stash and live like a king with his supplies. </p><p> </p><p>I start hearing distant growling and gunshots. I think I hear some mines or grenades go off too, I feel the slight tremors on the ground. Maybe Falcon has some kind of plan. Maybe he's killed deathclaws before. This guy is insane. Nobody in their right mind goes to face deathclaws of their own volition. Maybe he has a death wish. The gunfire continues for a moment and then abruptly stops. I'm too afraid to move. I try to control my rapid breathing, need to be silent right now. If the deathclaw survived, he's gonna smell me eventually. Maybe I can take it down if Falcon has wounded it already. Maybe I'll wait here for a moment, and then I gotta force myself to move.</p><p> </p><p>I hear uneven footsteps coming in my direction. Which one is it? I have no idea what deathclaw sounds like but in my state of mind, any sound coming my way seems very alarming. I check the gun still works and tense my muscles. I can do this. </p><p> </p><p>"Come out, it's safe." No way. This guy actually took it down? I feel so relieved and astonished at the same time I actually smile. I can hear him slightly panting. Maybe he's wounded? I look at the gun in my hand. I'm positive it works. Maybe I'll let him live now and we'll come in greater numbers to hunt him down later. It's like everything about this moment is saying "<em> go for it </em>." </p><p> </p><p>I step into the open with my gun ready. I notice two things the second we come face to face. First, he is wounded. Two deep gashes bleed heavily on his arm and upper thigh. Not all of the blood is his though, from his belt hangs what I presume to be a deathclaw hand, twice as big as human hand and with impossibly sharp claws. Second thing I realize he's pointing his gun at me, like he was expecting this. I can't see any sign of surprise at my betrayal. We stare at each other in silence, the weight of the pistol comfortable in my hand, like an old friend. </p><p> </p><p>"Nothing personal", I shrug finally to start this showdown. </p><p> </p><p>"You really wanna go up against me? I thought you were smarter than that." He carries the gun without showing any sign of pain, even if the blood has dyed half of his clothes in dark red. </p><p> </p><p>"You're wounded", I state the obvious. </p><p> </p><p>"So are you", he replies softly. How the hell can he keep composed at a time like this? He doesn’t betray anything, not a flicker of anxiety. Falcon's not taking me seriously. This just feels like a repeat of the last time, he’s fuckin mocking me. A flare of anger rises in my gut. I want him to take me seriously, for <em> once. </em></p><p> </p><p>"Drop the gun, asshole! I will shoot you if you try anything!" Falcon just stares at me without blinking. I feel some of my courage fade away. No fucking way, this is my last chance. I will kill him and go live my raider life happily. I adjust my sweaty grip on the weapon. </p><p> </p><p>"Which gun do you think is more effective, yours or mine?" He asks me sharply, aiming for my head.</p><p> </p><p>"Shut the fuck up! Do you want to die?!" </p><p> </p><p>"How many do you think heard the fight earlier? How many other deathclaws? Robots? Supermutants? I reckon this place will be swarming with enemies soon. I've gathered the impression that you are not that strong of a fighter. You really want to face all of them on your own?" I finally hear some anger in his voice. </p><p> </p><p>"I will be long gone before that, trust me", I chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>"I doubt that. You hear those sounds?” He nods to the direction he came from, and my attention wavers for a second. That's all he needs. He charges forward and swings the gun at me so quickly I have barely time to register it. Suddenly I'm on the ground, my jaw feeling like it's ablaze. Falcon pries the gun off my fingers and yanks my injured arm. I yelp, unable to make any coherent sounds. </p><p> </p><p>"I wasn’t kidding about the enemies. We need to move." He almost growls at me. I stumble on my feet, probing my face to check if everything is still intact. My lower lip is bleeding, but luckily no broken teeth. What the hell was that for? My jaw feels like a misplaced brick.</p><p> </p><p>“Let them fucking come. At least I wouldn’t have to see your ugly face anymore”, I hiss back, taunting him. Falcon’s mouth tightens, and I step back, holding my throbbing jaw. Next thing I know, he yanks my hands forward and ties my wrists together with few brisk movements. I go along, glaring daggers at him, but I don’t even try to protest. To hell with that asshole and his agility. He pushes me in front of him, and I try to walk briskly to make him fall in behind me, but he stubbornly keeps up, limping or not. I think I can hear some occasional gunshots back where we came from, but I don't want to confirm what caused them. We just continue our hurried walking for what seems to be eternity. It's real hard too, with your hands tied together. At some point we reach more secluded place, remains of a forest, and slow down a little. I can hear Falcon panting heavily, but he never asks me to stop. What a magical little hike we’re taking here. Highlight of my life. </p><p> </p><p>"You, um, okay?" I ask tentatively, slowing down and turning around. He must've lost a lot of blood, looking all pale and sweaty, face gaunt like he just ran out of the good stuff keeping him still going.</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up and move, you piece of shit", he hisses in dark tone. This is the most emotion I’ve seen him express during our short and unfortunate adventure. He's actually angry at me? For turning my gun on him? I don't know whether to feel angry or laugh. My mouth curls into a bloodied smile. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey, you would've done the same if you were me", I say to my defense, wondering why do I even bother.</p><p> </p><p>"No I wouldn't. I wouldn't been caught in the first place." And he still has all the time in the world to mock me. I really wish I would've shot him. Even if that meant my death too. </p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>I don't know how long I've been staring out of that small, dirty window. Long enough to know that more than a half of a day has passed. It's dark outside, and I'm trying not think how hungry I am. It must be more than a day since I last ate, when Falcon gave me some tough brahmin steak to chew on. After our earlier escape he led us to a old shack that looks like it's ready to fall apart any minute. But apparently it’s safe and secluded, and by far it’s the most luxurious place we’ve inhabited. I don't know if I should be relieved or not, our location just means the small chance we could encounter some fellow raiders, has gotten even slimmer. The first thing Falcon did was to chain me to an old, sturdy heating pipe, so here I am, wasting my life away, picturing about hundred different ways in which the Megaton settlers are probably going to kill me. My arm is hurting and I barely can feel my fingers, the tightness of the rope is digging into my skin. </p><p> </p><p>Falcon has passed out on the sofa. I wonder if he's still alive. He stitched himself up earlier, looking so pale and weak I was certain he was going to die right there. He's made of steel, honestly, I've never seen a guy so tough. I don't think he has even slept since our unfortunate encounter at our raider shack two days ago. I don't have to like him, but I respect him. I would probably still kill him if I had the chance though. But he can't die unless he unties me first, last thing I wanna do is rot in this shack because I'm so clumsy I can't even free myself. I don't think I've never felt so helpless in my life. What Falcon says, goes, and it's agonizing to know you can't apparently do a fuck about it. And I <em> hate </em>following other people’s rules. That's what I loved when being a raider. No rules, no superiors, the world is just divided between you, others and enemies. I didn't join raiders so much for the killing but the complete freedom over yourself, that is sweetly intoxicating. Most of the time I stayed at the camp in Evergreen Mills and the place is a friggin’ fortress, so no ordinary fellows have guts enough to attack us. Except maybe this asshole right here. He would probably use some morally superior reason to waltz straight in and butcher the whole place. And maybe morally he’d have a reason. It’s not like I consider myself to be a good person. It’s not like I live under the illusion that raiders are good people. I’ve hurt people, I’ve killed some. We got money out of selling slaves, so we raided farms and small villages, taking who we wanted with us. I’ve probably destroyed more lives than Falcon. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe I was cruel at times. I didn’t think twice about beating up a man, who tried to run away. I felt shifty about selling a young woman to a shady brothel, but took the money nonetheless, so I could buy some chems. I kept people in cages, when they pleaded to let them go. But cruelty was all around us. It bred us and in return, we fed it. The people we took, were like battle trophies and they never even tried to question it. It's very easy to be lost in the illusion, that you are more superior than the people you kill or capture from the wastes. And they play their part so well too, groveling in fear and succumbing to every humiliating command. You get drunk on those kind of victories so easily. And I never had anyone else to compare myself to but the raiders. </p><p> </p><p>Falcon suddenly groans and I halt my thoughts. I can't see him that well in the dark, but I think he glances at me, checking if I'm still there. "Huh, and you didn't escape. How long was I out?" He asks, his voice all groggy and weak. This is change from his usual composed and unfriendly behavior. </p><p> </p><p>"Dunno really, seven hours, tops. You're the one with the clock." I don't even try to shrug, the dull pain from my bullet wound is radiating to my whole arm. He checks the time from his pip-boy and sighs.</p><p> </p><p>"Jesus... No use trying to drag myself through the wasteland in the night I guess. We'll leave at morning." He sounds so tired, it's almost weird to see him showing his weak side so openly. </p><p> </p><p>"You think you could spare some food?" I ask carefully. If violence couldn't budge this guy, maybe manners do. Falcon grunts in response and rises with difficulty. He sets up his lantern to the floor and unties me from the pipe. My arms have gone stiff, and I hiss in pain when I move my injured arm. He redoes the bindings loosely and gives me a can of pork 'n' beans, then heavily limps back to the sofa. I appreciatively dig into the food while he watches me, never letting go of his rifle. Probably the best meal I've ever had, except maybe for that one time we caught a yao guai and roasted it's meat with some expired spices. That was so worth the trouble.</p><p> </p><p>"So, you've gone up against deathclaws before?" I strike for some conversation again, now that the man does seem less hostile. And he actually answers.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, I don't know why I got so careless with this one. You think you've seen them all, and know all their tricks, but then something unexpected happens. I went to this cave once, encountered a deathclaw, I thought I had it in control. Then two more show up and the whole thing just blows up. I'm lucky I made it out of that cave alive." This is probably the most he's ever spoken to me.</p><p> </p><p>"Three deathclaws at once? You sure you ain't some super mutant yourself?" I actually grin at him. No point being an asshole if you can have a nice talk, I suppose. </p><p> </p><p>"I got some ugly scars there, but with a whole lot of ammo, luck and quick thinking you can survive almost anything. It has gotten me this far." He doesn't smile back, but something akin to amusement flashes in his eyes. His way of talking sounds somehow different, not like the usual wastelander drawl I’m used to hearing. </p><p>"So if you ain't a merc, you some kind of scavenger, is that it?" Very well equipped scavenger. Falcon shakes his head, searches my face very carefully, like he's deciding whether to get irritated by my questions, or keep the fragile peace we’ve managed to hold on to for two whole minutes.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm looking for my dad, that's all", he finally answers. </p><p> </p><p>"Sure you wanna waste your life on that? What did he do?" </p><p> </p><p>"He... disappeared." I know that pause involved a lot of information he doesn't wanna share with me. Somehow this sounds oddly familiar. Then it hits me.</p><p> </p><p>"No fucking way! You're that vault kid!" A look of suspicion flashes in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"You're all over the news in the radio! Threedog mentions you at least once a day in Galaxy News Radio!" It all falls into place. What are the odds, of all the people it's him? I don't know why I'm so shook by this, maybe because there's just a big shortage of celebrities in Capital Wasteland and I’ve gotten beaten up by one. </p><p> </p><p>"I did him a favor, yeah", he replies modestly. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh come on! The way he talks about you, I mean he paints a pretty picture, you’re like a rock star. But to me, you’re a self-conceited asshole, who just murdered my friends. I mean, if that isn't ironic, then what is?" Falcon raises his eyebrows, and I’m not sure if he shares my opinions. Too bad.</p><p> </p><p>"You ever get tired of being a dick? And I have no idea what he talks about me in his broadcasts." </p><p> </p><p>"You don't listen to the radio? He pretty much says you are the last hope of humanity. I just started to doubt that, for some reason." I flash him a sugary smile, that doesn’t reach my eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"Last hope of humanity, huh? He sure doesn't put pressure on me. And no, if I listened to the radio every living creature within a mile could probably hear me. I don't want that."</p><p> </p><p>"That sounds fucking boring as hell. We always kept the radio on, listening to that Eden fella talk was like the most amusing thing ever. Especially his speeches about criminals and lowlifes like us. I used to, uh, make a pretty sweet impersonation of him." All of a sudden, the atmosphere changes and whatever I’m about to say next, dies down. Falcon's look of vague approval just melts away and he looks at me with cold eyes. He really has it in for raiders apparently. </p><p> </p><p>"Look if you're trying to sweet talk me out of this, it's not going to happen. You're lucky enough I spared you, usually I kill every raider I encounter, no matter if they're trying to kill me or not.” I respond with a glare as freezing as his, teeth clenched together. </p><p> </p><p>"Well, why the fuck did you spare me then? You wanna live your kinky bondage fantasy?” I wriggle my bound hands in front of my face.</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe it’s because you were almost ready to piss your pants at the sight of my gun. I've never seen a raider acting like you, weeping and begging like crazy." Blood roars in my ears suddenly. Who the hell does he think he is? Why the fuck he always tries to humiliate me?</p><p> </p><p>"You know what? Fuck you. For a supposedly good guy, you're a real asshole." What would I give to punch him in the face just once. Falcon’s face twists and he looks more like the man, who was ready to butcher several people without missing his beauty sleep.</p><p> </p><p>“Well thank God, finally I agree with you on something - I think you're an asshole too." And just like that, what peace, no matter how frail, we almost built, is shattered like glass. </p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>My breathing feels too loud. My heartbeat feels to loud. Falcon is huddled next to me on a side of a huge boulder and his whole being is too loud. And I think we don't want to be heard right now.</p><p> </p><p>"Hello? Someone there?" A rough voice calls out beneath us. Heavy footsteps. I can smell the creature from where we are hiding.  A putrid smell wafts in the air. I'm afraid our own bodies will betray us, the scent of sweat and blood could attract any beast within a mile. I don't know we got into this mess. Falcon sighted a camp of supermutants further ahead and was trying to figure out a way to pass it easiest, but he didn’t seem too worried about choosing a path that took us right by it. He hasn’t said anything -of course, we barely have spoken since last night- but I doubt even he doesn't want to get into fights right now, I mean he walks all funny and has downed a whole bottle of painkillers since we started walking. And now this supermutant came out of nowhere, treading down the path right beneath our hiding place. Falcon keeps checking his gun, trying to catch a glimpse of the ugly thing, like he’s still preparing for a fight. He’s a tough motherfucker, but I doubt he’s not that tough to go through that. </p><p> </p><p>The footsteps cease below us. I don't know what kind of super senses muties have, but I hope smelling humans aren't one of them. Falcon is gripping the rifle so hard his hands are white. I feel too vulnerable with my hands tied. I wish I had a rock at least, or a stick. Or a big-ass minigun with few thousand rounds. I hear the heavy steps again, they pass beneath us and painfully slowly become more distant.  I exhale shakily. </p><p> </p><p>"We have to find a better spot, if that thing comes back we're done for", I whisper. Falcon doesn't quite look at me, he just examines the ground with this look. A look of ill-contained excitement. Oh shit. Don't tell me he's thinking of doing something. </p><p> </p><p>"Quit your fucking whining", he whispers back, and then retreats from the cover of the rock, all the while checking if he's safe. For fuck's sake, is he actually gonna start pick a fight with the supermutant? I really don't want to move. I really don't want to be in this situation. Falcon starts digging something from his backpack, in the middle of the fucking clearing. He takes out some round objects- oh. Mines. He’s been carrying fucking mines in his backpack this whole time? He plants them carefully around the area and then crouches, like a some human predator, waiting. Why the hell did I have to end up with this crazy fuck? I get up clumsily and quickly go and crouch beside him. He just ignores me.</p><p>"Let me do something too", I still whisper although it's kinda pointless now, I think. I don't know why I'm doing this. But maybe this guy can actually take that thing down. Maybe I just want some of the glory. I try not to think about me facing a supermutant, unarmed.</p><p> </p><p>"Like you did the last time? You can just stay out of my way." He scowls. </p><p> </p><p>"Look-- I won't, I pro-" I stop when hear the heavy steps again, coming our way. One step at a time, closer, closer, closer. I think my heart is going to explode. Falcon actually grins when the footsteps start sounding louder, aiming already with his gun. He's a fucking maniac. But I think some of his blood lust is starting to affect me too. </p><p> </p><p>"Just give me a gun, okay?" I say, suddenly so sure about myself. He actually looks at me this time, searching my eyes, like he's trying to see whether I'm worthy of his trust. It's like the whole world slows down, when I stare unblinking into his brown eyes. Then, a moment of stillness breaks, I hear a terrible screech of laughter; the ugly thing has spotted us, juicy human meat. The next seconds pass so quickly. Falcon presses the pistol in my hand, fires the first shot with his trusted rifle. The mutant runs up the hill, bellowing, swinging some nail board in its huge hands, barely noticing the gunshots. I aim for the head, it feels like forever since I've done this. My first shot misses, but  Falcon keeps it under constant fire, and the creature starts bleeding from various wounds, and after few seconds I don't know which bullet holes are by my making or his. Still, it's not slowing down, but Falcon just holds his ground, so I won't back down either. I hear the familiar warning beep. I duck the second the supermutant explodes, flinging little bits and pieces of gore all over the place. </p><p> </p><p>It takes a second to realize that the fight is over. I slowly get up, just looking at all the blood and pieces of what used to be a supermutant. I brush some unidentified meat lumps from my skin and finally look at Falcon. </p><p> </p><p>"Fuck! That bitch ain't so tough now, huh?!" I grin at him, shakily. His crazy plan fucking worked. I feel like I could take down the whole world now. Invincible. The power surging in my veins, it's addictive. Falcon just looks at me cautiously. I remember the gun and toss it to the ground. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah yeah, prisoners with guns are a bad thing, I remember." I walk closer to the mutilated corpse, and I stop beside its head. The gruesome sight reminds me of some raider camps, where they hang up the mutilated bodies as a warning. I’ve visited few of them and the smell was fucking foul. This dead motherfucker doesn’t smell any better. </p><p> </p><p>"FUCK YOU!" I aim my boot at the sturdy head, and it actually comes off the body, rolling in the sand, dying it deeper color of red. It’s a tiny moment of rebellion, way to feel like myself again, and not like this beaten down, complacent prisoner I’ve forced myself to be. </p><p> </p><p>"Hate to interrupt, but we need to leave now, unless you want some more mutant company ", Falcon stands behind me, eyeing me with half-hidden curiosity. Now that the fight's over, he looks like the wounded man again, limping and holding his gun with difficulty. I realize I could've probably killed him this time, I could attack him now and he would go down. But for some reason I tell myself, this isn’t the right time.</p><p> </p><p>"Lead the way, champ." </p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>"So...can I finally ask you why the hell did you decide to attack that fucking mutie back there? We probably could've stealthed our way out of there, you know." It's slowly getting dark. The sky behind Falcon reminds me of blood. That's all we get here in Wasteland, sickeningly red sunsets. It’s the radiation, I’ve heard.</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe. It was a perfect set-up for it, you have to admit it. No one can survive the blast from the frag mines." He sounds so pleased too, even though he had to stitch up his wounds again. I guess we are in speaking terms again. Thankfully, the sullen silence was about to drive me crazy. We found some partially collapsed houses on the plains, you could still make out some shapes of furniture in some of the shacks. One house still had running water, even though there's no roof left, and Falcon decided we'd stay there for a while. There's even a broken bathtub, and half-buried fridge with a supply of untouched Dandy Boy Apples. The mood is almost relaxed. Falcon is sitting across from me, eating his share of the contents of the fridge. For once, he doesn't glare at me or have his gun readied in his lap. It almost looks as though we’re just two people passing time, except I'm constantly reminded of the coarse rope scrubbing against my raw skin. </p><p> </p><p>"I’m beginning to think you just want excuses to start shooting at things. Is it the adrenaline rush or the kill count you’re after?" The Dandy Boy Apples still have some flavor left, and I savor the faint taste of sugar in my mouth. Better than dust. Definitely. </p><p> </p><p>"I don’t know what you’re talking about", Falcon just replies curtly, but I see a slight waver in his expression, like I got too close to the answer.  He shifts, starting to look little awkward, glancing down and looking like he has something to say but doesn't have the nerve to do it. I wait patiently, this should be good. </p><p> </p><p>"Look, I suppose I should thank you for, you know, not being an asshole back there. With the gun I mean, not trying to shoot me again." That's gotta be the first. And probably the most emotional thing to come out of his mouth ever. </p><p> </p><p>"I’m starting to regret it already. A little apology could go a long way too, you know." Maybe I'm pushing it, but instead of getting angry again he just raises his eyebrows. </p><p> </p><p>"You say sorry to all those you enslave? To all whom you rape, kill?" He just had to go there. The philosophical debate of the day, and I'm going to lose it.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, it's not the same, not really. It- it’s just the way it is. Some people are just so fucking weak. I don't see them defending themselves, they just go along with everything they're told, like some fucking cattle." I find the dirt on my skin very interesting. The bathtub is starting to feel uncomfortable against my back. I know my justifications are weak, but I've never been questioned about this. Do I actually think this way or have I just accepted this as my warped reality? It's just the way things have always been. </p><p> </p><p>"Cattle? Like you do with me?" I think Falcon finds my discomfort entertaining. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm not some fucking dog! I've could've shot you back there but I didn't."</p><p> </p><p>"You really think you could’ve? Why didn’t you?" I find that I don’t have an ready answer for him. I reach for words, end up only with something vague, pure guesses of his intentions. Why didn't I try to kill him? In some way, I know the reason was something more than the pure ecstasy of the moment. A moment of mutual trust. He trusted me with a gun, I trusted him to get us out of that mess.</p><p> </p><p>"Because...I think you’ve spent too much time dragging my ass to Megaton, just to see me get killed." I’ve become too dependent of him, of his mercy. And I hate myself for it. I need to pull it together. The silence drags on way too long and I refuse to look at him. Finally Falcon sighs. I still won't look at him. </p><p> </p><p>"Well... great deduction there. I was thinking of working out something for you there. They are fair people, not killers, not like you and the rest of the raiders." The wave of relief just dies off. The frail, unholy companionship I felt to him, just dies off too, when I see him looking at me coolly.  </p><p> </p><p>"What the fuck?! You really think you can judge me? You? You think the world is divided just like that? Why the fuck do you hate me so much?" All the frustration, it just breaks loose. This guy won't just stop. I clench my hands into tight fists, welcoming the pain. It stops me from attacking him and getting myself killed. </p><p> </p><p>"Don’t forget I’ve spent enough time killing your people. I know what they are, and what you are. But I gotta be honest, at times, you almost seem like a normal person." He seems honestly puzzled about this. He’s a fucking snowflake, that’s what he is.</p><p> </p><p>"Well that at least explains your whole “I'm so nice oh wait fuck you”-complex with me. Is this about revenge then? Some gang killed your little girlfriend and you want to kill every raider because of that? Is that why you attacked us?"</p><p> </p><p>"End of discussion." He almost growls the words. Well praise the Lord, I made him angry! I almost laugh. </p><p> </p><p>"Did I hit a sensitive spot? Well sorry, you're not the only one with a fucked-up life!" We stare at each other across the ruins of the house, both tense and ready to tear each other up, like starving mongrels. How come every discussion I try have with him ends up like this? </p><p> </p><p>"You guessed wrong. Now just shut up." Falcon has apparently gained his ironbound self-control once again, and he dismisses me with the wave of his hand. He starts going through his bag, ignoring my presence. I'm left with so many things to say, so many questions and so much anger. How come I ever thought this guy was on my side, even for a second? He's nothing but a self-righteous asshole. I can't just sit here sullenly, mulling the leftovers from our conflict. I rise to my feet suddenly, balancing precariously without the use of my hands. Falcon glares at me, suspicion almost glowing from him. </p><p> </p><p>"No, I'm not trying to escape, you asshole. I just..." I snap at him before he can open his mouth, but when I look around, I realize I don't really know what I'm doing. "...wanted to take a shower", I finish my sentence when my gaze fixes on the broken bathtub. Lame excuse, but it beats the sulking in the corner. Falcon doesn't reply, thank the almighty for small mercies. I don't want to listen any more of his shit. I try the tap and it actually works. I'm used to the itching and being covered in mud and dust, but I guess you use your chances to bathe whenever you can. I strip out of my time-worn shorts and sleeveless shirt with great difficulty. Fucking ropes. My boots are on a verge of falling to pieces, I notice. I crouch in the tub and turn the water on. Hope no monsters attack us now, greeting them stark naked would make a sorry sight. The water feels warm and oily, but when I splash it to my dirty skin, my anger seems to be fading, little by little. I wish I had a razor, the beginnings of a beard itches constantly. The coolness of the approaching night actually feels welcome, almost more purifying than the water. If you can call it that, I know I'm practically washing myself with radiation. </p><p> </p><p>I can't take out Falcon. I know that. He's way too fast, skilled and reckless in fight, even when injured. I just don't want to be his little fucking lamb he can usher into slaughter without any protests. I disperse some water from my blond hair and steal a glance at the other man. He's looking at me. Not directly, but with that kind of guilty look, glancing from the corner of his eye. He swiftly starts examining his wound on his arm when he notices that the stare is mutual, looking so uncomfortable that it makes it too apparent he wasn't up to any good. Well well. Subject to his wet dreams, am I? Bet you can't find that many fags in the wastes, willing to go in the bushes for a quickie. I have to prevent the amused smile from spreading to my lips. I know some of the raiders ain't so picky about who they fuck, but I've never tried. Even though I don't give a fuck about religious shit, I was brought up by the Christian set of rules. That means, say amen when the priest tells you to, don't steal your friends' bitches and never take it up the ass. A fine set of rules.</p><p> </p><p>I make a show about the rest of my bathing, flexing my muscles and showing my skin as much as possible. I ain't got that bad of a body and just the right amount of muscle. I notice Falcon is looking everywhere but me and that strikes me as almost hilarious. I finally feel like I have some stepping stone, some advantage over him. I could ask him to wash my back, if I thought he could take the joke. Hell, I got nothing to lose anymore, I don't care what he thinks of me. I dry myself with my shirt and put back on my pants, leaving the shirt drape over my wrists against the rope. Let him look, let him see the things he can't have. </p><p> </p><p>"You think you could clean up my wound?" I try to sound as neutral as possible. If I can't beat him with violence, maybe I can at least piss him off with something else. I feel like a some sort of hustler, standing there without my shirt. I'm cheap baby, try me, don't be shy. </p><p> </p><p>"Sure", Falcon answers moodily, but he doesn't get up. His leg must be giving him a lot of grief, even if he's taken quite a lot of stimpaks to dull the pain. Or med-X if you're into that kind of thing. That could explain the following crankiness. But Falcon seems so fine and mighty that I doubt he would ever even think about using drugs. I walk up to him, squatting right in front of him. His rifle is so close. Falcon doesn't meet my eyes when he does his routine inspection, he looks just angry and embarrassed at the same time. It still stings when he cleans the bullet wound with some water, but at least it's not flaring in angry red color like the gashes on him. If I could just distract him. The rifle is so close to me, leaning against the wall idly, inviting me to bend forward <em> juuuust </em>a little and grab it. </p><p>"You know, I was thinking...maybe we could work something out, you know, to save some trouble ", I break the silence, using the tone that Anette used to call my sugar voice. I lean in a bit. Falcon is avoiding my eyes, but I look at him, fixing my gaze at his brown eyes. He knows I know I saw him looking at me, it's making him so uncomfortable. This close I can make out the signs of exhaustion on his face, the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness. No wonder this guy is always in a bad mood.</p><p> </p><p>"You want me to sew your mouth shut?" He tightens the bandage around my arm briskly and I try not to hiss. </p><p> </p><p>"I was thinking something more...beneficial", I grin and without warning, take my hands to his crotch, squeezing hard. And without doubt, feel a reaction. The next few seconds seem like the longest of my life. His eyes widen and what feels like a slow-motion film, his expression changes into a mixture of surprise and rage. Now. I quickly reach for the gun, when something cold against my throat stops me. Fuck. He's too fucking fast. Falcon presses the barrel of a pistol deeper against my windpipe and forces me to lean back. </p><p> </p><p>"Get. Off. Me." He snarls between his bared teeth, each word full of venom. I've never seen him this mad.</p><p> </p><p>"That's not what your cock was telling me", I can't help but laugh a little. I can't make it any worse than this. I knew it was a long shot anyway, but this? Priceless. Falcon doesn't respond, but he adjusts the gun, so I can see his finger tightening against the trigger. Okay, maybe not such a good idea. This close, I'm pretty sure he could blast my brains out right now. The hero of the wasteland, inspiration to us all. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay okay, I got it..." I back away slowly, not turning my back on him. I do NOT want to be shot in the back. Falcon just keeps looking at me with the most murderous look I've ever seen, pointing his weapon at me. This is him, at his worst, at his most burning, raw rage. And somehow, I don't think he has the guts to do it. That fury is probably covering a lot of fear too, I reckon. This is him, at his weakest. I stand a few feet from him, just waiting. Finally he lowers the weapon, visibly swallowing some of his anger. </p><p> </p><p>"Just get the hell away from me and keep your mouth shut", he orders quietly, holstering the pistol. I don't even feel afraid anymore, at least not that much. I just have this...urge, to hurt him, somehow. I stare at him, unblinking. </p><p> </p><p>"You're a fucking queer, you know that? You know what they do to-"  I don't have time to finish my sentence. Falcon is up in a flash, throwing himself at me like an enraged bull. I barely have the time to register him attacking me, I just vaguely perceive brazing myself for him. The cripple against the cripple with tied hands. He swings his fist in my face and I don't even try to dodge, just blindly trying to grab him, grab his weapon, anything. The impact of his blow almost knocks me off my feet and I stumble back, hitting him back, but he comes at me with such ferocity I don't know if he even feels my fist. I manage to grab his collar, but I lose my footing in the rubble, realizing the second I heavily  hit the ground that I'm dead. Falcon flings himself on top of me, his eyes wild, nothing could reach him now. Another blow and I taste blood. Third blow and I hear a sickening crack, my whole face feels wet and warm from all the blood. Feeling dazed, I don't even register that much of the pain. The fourth blow never comes. His weight feels too heavy against me, and I try to suck in air, swallowing blood and little pieces of some broken teeth. He just pants there, face like a wild animal. </p><p> </p><p>"What are you waiting for?" I try to yell, but can only manage a broken cry. "HIT ME YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!" </p><p> </p><p>"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" And he hits me, so hard I can only see blackness and hear my own erratic heartbeat. I faintly feel him get off me, hear him slowly limping away. I lay there, hardly noticing how the rocks press against me, how cold they feel. I can barely breathe, my face feels distorted and broken. The pain comes in waves, caressing me with sharp claws. All the while, distant voices, sounds, flashes of half-forgotten people pass behind my eyes, always fading before I can remember what they mean, who they were. </p><p> </p><p>"You alright sonny? Don't worry, it doesn't look that serious." The older man smiles at me.<em> What do you mean, a wild dog just bit me, </em> I want to say but the words won't come out. The rusty gate swings open behind us, making a sorrowful sound. </p><p> </p><p>"Is he okay? Are you okay?" A woman is there. <em> I'm not okay. I'm hurting. </em> She holds me, telling me it's going to be okay. She smells of grass and smoke. Mom. <em> I didn't mean to go so far, I just wanted to scare the dog away. He wasn't supposed to attack me. </em> Maybe I deserved this. But I'm not okay. I'm hurting. </p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>The time is crawling forward. And I don't want it to go any faster. Or maybe I do. I don't know anymore. For once, I sit in a chair. So we finally made it back to Megaton, Falcon in one piece and me almost, I left some pieces of my teeth back in the ruins of the house. I'm just sitting in this goddamn chair and waiting what's going to happen to me. He left me in his house and his dog for Christ sake to guard me. The animal sits in front of me, growling every time I move or even breathe too loudly. </p><p> </p><p>"Maybe I screwed up a little", I sigh to the german shepherd, although it hurts to speak. It bares its teeth. I get the message. Who knows what Falcon could be telling the settlers now. I probably signed my death conviction when I yelled faggot right to his face. That's me, can't keep my mouth shut no matter what. The rest of the travel went by in absolute, icy silence. He woke me up roughly where I had passed out, and we continued our weary travel in the night. I didn't even have time to wash my swollen face and now there's dried blood all over it. I can't open my left eye and I think he broke my nose. So yeah, I guess I paid a heavy price for my fun. At least we had some luck on the road, even if strange, too. We ran into some patrolling protectrons but two yao guai finished them for us. But they didn't attack us. They didn't mind us at all. Falcon just limped past them, me following very close by, and the bears just paced past us, grumbling softly. I don't know how he does it. He didn't tell me either. </p><p> </p><p>We got some curious looks when we finally entered Megaton. It seems like a big place too, rusty houses built from corrugated iron and high wall around the place. But instead of taking me to some high council of death, he brought me here to his house and left without saying a word. He seems to have a nice place set up here, shelves full of odd trinkets, guns and posters taken from abandoned museums hanging in the wall. I'm so fucking glad for him. </p><p> </p><p>I don't want to think about what's coming. My hands are all sweaty and sitting in this chair feels like torture. He's probably trying to get rid of me so I wouldn't say a word about his, say, preferences. Things like that aren't exactly the kind you want to end up on the lips of the wrong people, or anyone for that matter. He's probably riling up the villagers and they want a public execution. He was probably lying when he said he would try setting me up with something. At some moments, I even thought we were getting along. I really thought we made, no matter how stupid it sounds, some connection when we nailed that mutie. But in the end, he couldn't stand the fact that I wasn't a high-class citizen like him. In the end, he was just someone who captured me and I was nothing but a low-life scum. And what really gets to me, he was just one guy and I had few chances to escape, as I recall, but I was just stupid and blew them to hell. At least he kept his word and brought me here, but I really messed it up. Part of me wishes I never see him again and the other part, well, I suppose I should apologize. In the end it doesn't matter, I'm just a raider, right? </p><p> </p><p>I startle when the front door opens downstairs. I hear several people come in. This is it. I hear hushed voices and take a deep breath. Fragments of a conversation. A woman asks if I'm upstairs. A voice of an old man grumbles something about a trap. They're civilized people, they wouldn't kill me. But the mere sight of me probably makes them sick, a killer dressed in dirty rags, face so deformed and bloody they can't even tell I'm human. What a warm welcome I'll have. Footsteps in the stairs. I press my hands together so one would see them shaking. The dog just keeps watching me.</p><p> </p><p>They come, six of them, stopping in a safe distance from me. Beware, you might catch the deadly raider-sickness. Unknown faces, some of them scowling, some just curious. Falcon isn't with them. Two women and four men, couple of them are older. I don't know whether I'm supposed to greet them or be silent. The mood is heavy and expectant, they just look at me, some of them so judgingly. Hypocrites. I doubt anyone of them is innocent. And yet their looks make me feel like a low-life criminal. Maybe I am as bad as they make of me.</p><p> </p><p>"So, you that raider, right?" An old guy speaks first, his hair is white with age. </p><p> </p><p>"Uh, yes sir. The name is Jose." The politeness comes almost automatically. I don't feel like I want to bring out that irritating anarchist part of myself out right now.</p><p> </p><p>"We had a little chat with Falcon, and he said that we should spare you", the man continues in a unfriendly manner. I'm slightly surprised; he kept his promise.</p><p> </p><p>"Where is Falcon? Why didn't he come?" I dare to ask. His absence makes me feel more defenseless. The old man frowns. The others just increase my anxiety with their silence. "Is he okay?" I look at the others, searching for some sign of friendliness, reassurance. None answer. Look at the pathetic raider, look at him jump up and down.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm the one asking the questions! Why would we want to take someone like you Megaton? We've built us a fine place here. A fine, peaceful place! You anarchists just deliver chaos and death wherever you go!" The man snaps at me, stepping closer threateningly. </p><p> </p><p>"I agree. Letting a criminal into this town could endanger us all", a middle-aged man speaks out. He has a beard and eyes burrowed deep in their sockets. Each word just sinks in the heavy air.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey now, listen! That's not what you said in the infirmary! Falcon wanted to keep him alive, we should listen to him." A red-haired woman speaks out disapprovingly. I feel strangely detached, like I'm not the one sitting in this chair. They are talking about someone else, and I’m just following this play acting out. </p><p> </p><p>"And only God knows how that boy has done us good. But this... what would we even gain by keeping him here?" The first man shakes his head. He talks like I'm some animal. </p><p> </p><p>"There's gotta be something! We can't just kill him!" The red-haired woman argues further. </p><p> </p><p>"Moira, honey, you've always been a idealist. But there's the whole town to consider, I mean the food supply isn't gonna last forever if we keep letting people in", another, a blond woman butts in. I start noticing the little details. How well fed and clean they look. How their clothes aren't full of holes. How four of them carries a gun. </p><p> </p><p>"Is one person gonna change that, Jenny? Raider, let me ask you something. Are you good with your hands?" My defender focuses her attention to me, and suddenly remember I'm still the one sitting in the chair. </p><p> </p><p>"M-my hands? Well, I'm pretty good with weapons... I mean, repairing and stuff like that", I reply, trying not to get my hopes up. The woman smiles to me.</p><p> </p><p>"In that case, he could come with me, I could always use a helper", she says cheerily to the others. They don't look so convinced. </p><p> </p><p>"You think someone like him changes just like that? He'll always be a criminal." The hollow-eyed man crosses his arms. The white-haired man nods affirmatively. They really think they know it all. Bigoted people like them, they're the ones that stop world from changing.  </p><p> </p><p>"Walter, Moriarty, what do you say?" Jenny looks at the two remaining man, who haven't said a word. An graying African-American man scratches his neck, looking uneasy. </p><p> </p><p>"I don't know...this seems like a bad idea, but I really think I owe Falcon for all he's done to me. For all of us", he says, looking at the floor. They really seem to hold Falcon in high regard. The other man, younger and with blond beard and hair, shrugs indifferently. </p><p> </p><p>"I say, let him stay then, just for the heck of it." </p><p> </p><p>"You are making a mistake", the hollow-eyed man warns, looking as though the rest would've just summoned a demon. </p><p> </p><p>"Cromwell, I will take full responsibility of him", Moira smiles at him, but the man just turns away, looking angry. This isn’t the last I’m going to hear from him, I reckon. </p><p> </p><p>"Will you take responsibility if he kills someone, too?" Jenny asks. Some of them murmur approvingly. Like I'm not in the room. Like I have some compelling urge to be a criminal and slit their throats in their sleep. </p><p> </p><p>"It won't come to that. Right?" The woman looks at me, expression bright with the delight of her success. I nod, too dumbfounded to say a word. This sounds deceptively like I can actually keep my life. This time they ain't pointing a gun at me, but my heart is still beating like I'm about to have a heart attack. </p><p> </p><p>"Fine then, you keep him. But one mistake is all it needs", the white-haired man says, and glancing suspiciously at me for the last time, leaves. The others follow him slowly, none of them looking too pleased. I'm the snake in their paradise. Moira stays, waits until the others have left. She comes closer, smiles at me cheerfully. All my strength has left my body. Suddenly I can feel the tiredness, from the days and days of walking without any proper sleep, and the injuries, throbbing painfully. </p><p> </p><p>"Don't worry about Falcon, the doctor needed to patch him up, that's all", Moira says, talking like we're old friends. I can hardly hear what she's saying.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you", I say weakly. Look at my hands shake, I couldn't even hold a pen. I can't look at her, I'm too ashamed of myself. "Thank you for saving me", I repeat. And then, something in me breaks. I start crying, the tears mixing with the dried blood, the sobs wrecking my whole body. All the emotions, all the frustration, fear, relief, sadness coming together. I can't control it, I just keep crying. Moira crouches in front of me, squeezes my hand.</p><p> </p><p>"No, don't be like that. We have to get you to your new home", she sounds so compassionate I don't think I even deserve it. I try to take deep breaths, manage to control myself slowly. I feel like an idiot. </p><p> </p><p>"Sorry", I manage to say.</p><p> </p><p>"Let's go then."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote this like 8 years ago, but for some reason I needed to revisit my disaster duo now. They're really problematic, stubborn assholes and I had so much fun with them. I loved this game way too much. I can't recall why I wanted to write this in first person POV, especially since I usually dislike it, but here we go. There might be some mistakes, sorry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. There aren't enough chems in the world to help to deal with you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Oh crap, this isn't working! Could you help me with this and get a new fission battery from upstairs? There should be some in the boxes, I can't let this thing out of my hands", Moira calls, her attention focused on one of her weird experiments. I think she's working on some energy based weapon, but I'm afraid if I ask her about it, she’ll want me to test it. I learned quickly that it lowers the chances of your living significantly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sure", I answer casually and leave the hunting rifle I was maintaining on the workbench. It's been over two months now since I came here. If it was up to Moira, she would probably let me run around freely with a gun, but her bodyguard is another thing. The man looks at me like I'm some corpse-eating ghoul, trying to persistently convince Moira that I'm scheming something and she should get rid of me. I sleep with my hands tied to the bedpost and for the first weeks he didn't even let me in the vicinity of anything that even resembled a weapon. Most of other Megaton settlers are like that too, unfriendly and distrustful at the least, hateful at the most. I try not to get it to me, but the truth is, the cold looks they are always giving me, chip away little pieces of me and make me feel like shit. I've always known that everyone hates raiders, but when it's just you against them, you don't suddenly feel so big anymore. So I try to lay low, easy considering I hardly leave the store. My world has narrowed down to a very small and pathetic slice of existence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I take out the boxes Moira was talking about, and start going through the junk. She's the only person here that treats me good, which is probably the only reason I haven’t tried to leave. I owe her something, the way she stood up for me. I think she wants to prove everyone wrong, wants to prove that deep down inside, everyone is good. But I've slowly started to believe the whispers, the looks, the insults. With the raiders, you never had to think about this stuff. Growing up with all that violence, the only thing you could do, was to become as bad as the rest of them. Logically, I knew the things we did was wrong, but everyone around me dug me deeper into the life. And I let them. Here, I'm singled out, and they all seem to know just the things I've done. So no, I don't think Moira can prove them wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>I hear the door opening and Moira greets someone happily. I don't pay much attention to it, I try to stay out of everyone's way so I wouldn't drive away customers. Truthfully, I don't think even Moira accepts that raider-part of me and the fact I’ve done bad things to people just like her. She hides her discomfort badly when I accidentally bring out the subject, or if anyone else tries to ask about it. It's not a good feeling, to be so ashamed of what you are, or were. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moira squeals in delight downstairs, that draws my attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Glad you like the stuff, some of it was pretty hard to find", a male voice is saying. A familiar voice. I freeze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you kidding? I've been looking some of this stuff for ages!" Moira exclaims, apparently examining the finds none too gently, I hear loud clattering.  "So what have you been up to?" She asks in a talkative tone. Falcon is back. I haven't seen him since he brought me here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I've been scouring the DC ruins, cleaning out metro tunnels, ghouls, muties, you know the usual", Falcon laughs. The first time I've heard him laughing. He adds something more quietly, I think he says something about his dad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Aww, you'll find him", Moira replies empathetically. I don't know what to feel. I don't know if I want to see him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So how's Megaton?" Falcon asks. Who knew he could be this friendly. The inhospitality was reserved just for me, apparently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh just great! Jose's been such a great help here", Moira chirps so loudly, it feels like she was standing next to me. I wish I could freeze time and rewind it few seconds back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Who?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jose! The man you brought here." She doesn't even know, Falcon doesn't have a clue what my name is. I curse mentally, she just couldn't keep quiet about me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, the raider." He carefully hides any emotions from his voice. I don't know whether those emotions are curiosity or distaste. Probably the latter. It becomes quiet for few heartbeats. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is he here?" Falcon then asks carefully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>! I can't believe my ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sure, he's upstairs! You want me to call him?" </span>
  <em>
    <span>No don't</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I plead silently. I don't want to face him just yet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, that's okay, I need to run along anyway. I'll be here only for this night", Falcon replies fast and I sigh with relief. They say their goodbyes and I wait for few minutes before going down with the requested fission battery. Moira is beaming, arranging her newly bought items on the counter. I see pistols, sniper rifles, even a minigun, and a variety of technical gadgets. He's been keeping himself busy, I see. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Guess who's back?" Moira asks me, smiling widely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I heard you guys talk", I reply, not quite managing to return her smile. Moira doesn't notice my lack of enthusiasm and starts talking excitedly about the weapons. I can't concentrate on what she's saying anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>x</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I close the creaking restroom door and sniff at the nighttime air. It smells of dirt. The lights of Megaton never go out, it's a small place, but full of life. I can hear singing from Moriarty's saloon, but there's not a soul to be seen. I can't sleep. I feel like I should see Falcon, but at the same time, I don't want to. I suppose I should thank him, but we didn't exactly depart in friendly terms. Luckily he didn't break my face permanently at least, my missing teeth don't show when I smile and my nose isn't crooked that bad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moira's bodyguard, she calls him Bones, has left the town for couple of nights. I dunno why, I don't even care. The man was worried about leaving Moira with me, but she paid no heed to that. She didn't even bother tying me up, which I'm grateful of. Stupid too, if I were to escape. A little bit of freedom still reminds me that I'm human. Without doubt, this place has made me more bitter. So called good and honest folk has seen to that. They've made me realize that these people are just as shitty as everyone else, some of them racists, opportunists, liars and criminals. Check out Leo Stahl for example. I can see him having a smoke in front of the water processing plant from where I'm standing. The brother to Jenny Stahl, the owner of Brass Lantern, which provides the cheapest food in town. Leo deals in all kinds of chems, uses them too. Everybody knows it, but no one says a word, or does a thing about it. That's not kindness, I know it, that's selfishness, nobody is giving a fuck as long as it isn’t about them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone walks up to Leo. It's dark but I'm surprised when I make out the blue mohawk. No way. I hardly think that's coincidental, you just happen to run into the drug dealer in the middle of the night? I squint my eyes, I think Falcon and Leo are talking. They head inside after a while, glancing around to make sure that no one isn't watching them. No fucking way. I go down the bridge hurriedly, not really thinking about what I'm doing. Maybe I can shout "Surprise!" when Falcon comes out few hundred caps poorer and pockets full of Jet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All I've been hearing since I came here how Falcon has saved the day for everyone. "You know, he's helping me to write a book", Moira always says and then starts telling me, what kind of dangerous situations Falcon has faced for her. "He disarmed that bomb and saved Megaton", Nathan always chants, usually followed by “so be glad it was him that caught you, you'd be dead otherwise." For Lucy West, he saved her brother. For Harden Simms, he avenged his father. They listen to the radio to hear any news from him, gather some caps to give presents to him. He's their idol. But from my point of view, I see a ill-tempered guy with a lot issues. How would these little worshippers react if they knew Falcon was a queer, and evidently an addict too? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I stay in wait at the terrace in front of the plant, leaning against the rail, trying to look relaxed. Better to face the beast than hide around in the bushes, I try to tell myself. I have this beast by his balls with this, and he can't beat me up this time. Minutes pass. I'm trying to hold on to my courage. Jesus, what the hell am I doing? This ain't none of my business. But something stops me from walking away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the door opens, Falcon comes out. Both of us flinch, me by the sudden noise of the door, Falcon by my presence. I register him reaching for his side for a weapon before he realizes it's me. Neither of us says a word. I'm just waiting, and he looks guilty as hell. He closes the door silently, watching me, slightly alarmed. He looks skinnier. More tired. He doesn't step any closer, and the light above the door casts dark shadows under his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jose, right? That your name?" Falcon finally opens his mouth, carefully trying to hide the nervousness in his voice. I can hear it though. "You look...different." He continues, shuffles his feet. He doesn't know what to do with me. I smell his weakness like a predator. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah well, I'm not covered in blood and my hands are free this time", I reply with a crooked smile, I just can't help taunting him. More silence ensues, Falcon doesn't appreciate my joke. Oh how the tables have turned. I don't feel helpless anymore. Falcon frowns, looks around uneasily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What are you doing here? Are you supposed to be walking around freely?" He asks little impatiently.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"I just came to check if you got a fair deal with those chems, I hear Leo's prices are high", I strike back at him. Forget being civil with him, forget thanking him, forget walking away, I just feel the anger rising me, remembering how he treated me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there it is again. The look of violence. Falcon clenches his jaws, I can see his whole body tensing.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't need to take this kind of shit from you", he hisses, starts walking away with long strides. I'm not done yet. I follow my prey. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The truth fucking hurts, doesn't it?" I call out to him. He stops, turns to face me, I can't see his expression in the dark, but his bearing is the one of badly contained fury. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Be fucking glad we're in the public", Falcon snarls. I ignore the signs of danger, walk closer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're going to beat me up again? I dare you." The air is filled with electricity. Step closer. Another step. And then he comes. I let him grab my collar, ram me against the side of the house. My back presses against the metal, aching from the impact. I don't care, I control him now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Leave me ALONE", he growls, so close to me. Falcon is only slightly taller than me. Funny, he always looked taller when I watched him from the ground. I use the trick I learned years ago, aim a sharp kick at his shin, when he reacts, gain the momentum, throw him off. I push him against the wall before he can recover. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"How about being nice to me for change?" I hold him there tightly, even though he fights back. His body radiates warm. I wonder if he ever gets cold. We lock gazes, stare at each other, unblinking. Then he slowly stops struggling. I can see a flash of uncertainty in his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What the fuck do you want?" He whispers. His fingers dig deep into my wrist, and I can feel his short breaths against my lips. His body, still against me. And I realize I don't want to let go of him. Time decelerates. Without thinking, I bring my hand to his crotch, stroke him. His cock swells against my hand. That's all there is, our restrained panting mixing together, my hand on his erection. He closes his eyes, biting his lip. And I realize I want him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No", Falcon manages to hiss unsteadily, he tries to push me back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Come on, let them see what you are", I whisper to his ear, burning with anger and suddenly awakened lust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Get away from me!" He growls, throwing me back. He stands there all awkwardly, while I regain my balance, half-expecting him to attack me. Something has changed between us. I can feel it, I can smell it, I can taste it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I think we need to talk", he says, voice dark and unsteady, already moving away. I trail him quietly when he leads us to his house. Falcon won't look at me, not even once, but I bet he can feel my stare. He lets me in, locks the door. The sharp sound signals the beginning of something. I don't know which one of us initiates it, but then we're all over each other. Exchanging violent kisses like we would exchange blows, teeth clashing against teeth, feeling each other, fingers harsh enough to leave bruises. I almost rip his shirt off him while we stumble upstairs, bodies too hot against each other. We somehow succeed to get to the bedroom, undressing rest of our clothing with fumbling fingers, grinding our hips together. And I've never wanted anyone so much. I manage to turn him around harshly, in a hurry I've never felt before. He struggles against me, grunting, panting, the rusty bed squeaking under our weight, when I hurriedly spit in my hand and wet my cock for him, when I enter him. It’s dry and it hurts, but I fuck him raw, violently enough to leave bruises where they won't show. But Falcon doesn't tell me to stop, he clutches the wrinkled sheets, knuckles white. Both of us are finished quickly as we started, and I collapse partially on top of him on the narrow bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We just lay there for a long time, neither of us incapable of saying anything. My body is still throbbing and I feel so utterly spent. Spent and bruised. Falcon just tries to regain his erratic breathing, facing the wall. I can see purple marks already forming on his skin from my violent touches. I feel like a conqueror. I won him, I dominated him. He feels so warm. I can't recall the last time I experienced the afterglow of sex breathing in someone's hair. Most the women I fucked were just as broken as me. Falcon feels different. Like a complete being, not just hollow core of a person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet I don't know if it's right. Being like this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I rise, little reluctantly. My muscles are screaming. There are cuts on my left arm, I have no idea how I got those. I can hear Falcon turning around behind me, following me silently with his gaze, when I gather my scattered clothes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I think I'd better go." I don't look at him when I speak. I dry the cooling sweat on my skin with my shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." That's all response I get from him. I slip into my jeans, get ready to leave. All the things we want to say, need to say, stay unspoken. I reach for suitable words one last time, come up with nothing. I step out of the doorway, the damned dog has been sitting there the whole time. It looks at me, far too knowingly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And Jose?" Falcon calls out. A flicker of hope awakens in me. I turn to look at him, the naked, bruised and scarred man in the crumpled old bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You won't tell anyone, will you?" He sounds hesitant and demanding at the same time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You know I won't. Besides, if I told, who do you think they'd lynch, you or me?" I don't stick around to hear the answer. I leave. Something has definitely changed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>x</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three weeks pass before I see Falcon again. Three long weeks, with too much time to think about our little screw up. It was a one-time mistake, I've told myself. It was the overwhelming emotions of  the moment, the anger and the physical closeness. It was Falcon's fault, for not resisting. I'm not some faggot. Yet I can't shake it out of my mind, how he felt, how he tasted. Like poison that leaves you hungry for more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I'm just heading out to deliver Walter some junk metal, when I almost bump into Falcon in the doorway. He steps back in surprise, slipping quickly his indifferent face on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"...Hey", he greets me. He can't hide the discomfort in his voice though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hi", I reply, my voice sounding like a high-pitched girl. Falcon glances at his feet. He does that a lot. It's like they are his moral advisors in a time of awkwardness. He's carrying several heavy weapons, probably for Moira. A second drags onward, then another. I've never experienced unease like this. Worst of all, I can feel Moiras' and his bodyguards' eyes on us, like they know everything. I'm glad I have the box in my hands, although I hold it like it's some uncooperative animal trying to wriggle out of my grasp. It stops me from fidgeting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're standing in the way", Falcon finally murmurs, still not looking at me. I practically leap out of his way, muttering half-coherent apologies. My face is red all over. For fuck's sake, I'm not some little girl with a fucking crush. I've never should've done it, never, this is so not worth one fuck. I take a step back, start making my way to the water processing plant next door without saying anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wait", Falcon stops me. He's still standing on the doorway, looking like he wants to run away himself. "I was wondering, if you, uh, could drop by later? I have something to...discuss." His words trail off. My surprise turns into curiosity, suspicion even. He really wants to talk to me? What the hell for? I don't think this twisted relationship needs another leaf to its book. Falcon notices my look. I could've slapped him for all I know, my silent hesitation is too much of a rejection to him, it seems. "On a second thought, I think I-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay, I'll come by later", I cut him off, just wanting to get away from this. Look of relief brightens his features for a second, and he heads inside. I start walking up the bridge. I don't know how to feel about this. It would be better to stay away from him. But I've never really listened to my voice of reason. That's why I'm in this mess, I guess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Walter doesn't look too happy about my visit, as usual. I'm just another vermin polluting his precious home. I watch him struggle with a broken, rusty pipe, and make the mistake of asking if he needs any help. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I can do my goddamn job just fine without you breathing into my neck", he snaps at me. A friendly, kind man, Moira describes him. "I have enough people like you to deal with", he continues crankily. I know he means Leo Stahl. I'm not a drug dealer, I could've said. I'm not a criminal, a raider, a slaver, not anymore. Mind your own business, I could've said. Even, I will smash your face in the next time you say that. But I stay quiet. For once. You just can't survive with these people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I come back, Moira flashes a bright smile at me the second I open the door. Falcon is gone. Bones just ignores my general existence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jose!" She squeals happily, looking so excited she might burst. I'm not sure whether I should feel confused or scared. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I didn't know you and Falcon were so close!" She continues before I can even reply. I hide very carefully any emotions that her innocent statement stirs up in me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What do you mean?" I ask carefully, putting aside the empty box. Bones spares a glare in my direction. He still doesn't like that I talk to her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I mean the first time you showed up all bloody and skin and bones, I didn't quite know what to make of the two of you, but to think you were friends! I think it's wonderful, I think he might be little lonely." Her happiness mixes with a look of concern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I wouldn't go that far, I think he just needs me for strategic purposes. I did happen to be a raider, I know stuff about them." A partial lie can't hurt. Moira looks kinda disappointed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Really? Looks like he was really happy about seeing you though", she looks at me, questioningly. I lean against the counter, forcing a little smile. Moira says I have a pretty smile, whatever that's worth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something big must've come up, then", I shrug, hoping she won't press it further. Why on earth I ever thought it was such a good idea to vent my sexual frustrations on that guy, I will never know. But it was the last time, I swear. Moira accepts my explanation, changes the subject to guns that need fixing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's well past nine when I finally muster the courage to knock on Falcon's door. The sky is red beyond the high walls of Megaton. It reminds me of the evening he beat me to bloody pulp. I just didn't have the heart to tell Moira that. She always was kind of hesitant to ask further questions about my broken nose and teeth; I think even the thought her precious hero might've done something violent is unthinkable for her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I absentmindedly pick on my nails as I wait for Falcon to open the goddamn door. It seems I can't get my hands clean, no matter how hard I try. They are always spotted with oil and dirt, mixed with scars. Signs of honest work, honest life. Is this really the life that every sincere Wastelander wants? Is this it for me? Decisions are made for me, my chores are chosen for me. If they had told me an year ago, I’d be living like this I would've laughed at the absurdity of it. I would’ve hated the thought. The only real freedom I have is when to take a piss, otherwise my life is dictated for me. It’s funny how fast you get used to living like a waste of space, a slave with no prospects.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falcon finally opens the door, invites me in without saying anything. There is something different in his eyes. Like a veil, to keep everything hidden. He's just been to the shower, he hasn't even bothered putting on his shirt. He's lost a lot of weight. And there are so many scars running across his skin, bullet wounds, rigged long cuts, burn marks. How he has survived this long with his suicidal fighting style, I don’t understand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So you wanted to talk about something?" I stay near the exit. I'm not sure if this is a good idea, to be here. It's the first time I've seen Falcon without his hair up, he's tied his hair in a loose ponytail. Falcon just stands there, looking me with those shrouded eyes of his, few feet away. Something feels different. I can feel it in the electricity of my skin, on the tip of my tongue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes couple of seconds to realize what happens next, but he just grabs me and kisses me hard on the mouth. Those are clumsy, inexperienced kisses, but there is something very desperate beneath them. His mouth tastes like alcohol, and underneath that there's the faint flavor of mentats, mixed with something salty that I recall from the last time. The air is buzzing with silent noise, thrumming in my ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I pull away from him with difficulty, his grip is strong. I can feel his hot breath against my face, I can't look directly at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Whoa, what-what do you think you're doing?" I exhale, trying not to get the closeness get to me. His grip on my neck tightens. I hate when my instincts are right. I never should've come.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What? You're the one who fucked me last time." I try to back away, only to be slammed against a cabinet. I hate to be pushed around. I hear tools clattering inside. This guy messes up everything he has his hands on, apparently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And that was the last time, so fuck off", I growl, teeth bared. But there is no real ferocity behind my words, and he feels it. We're so fucking close to each other, and there is something very primal about Falcon, the way his erratic breathing hits my face sharply, the need in his darkened eyes. His body radiates heat, it's unbearable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What started as voiceless ghosts of whispers, become compelling sound of temptation. I knew this would happen the second he asked me to come, the second he looked at me, and I still came. No matter how I would try to convince myself otherwise. He sees my hesitation, everything becomes very quiet. I focus on his thin lips, the ragged scar that traces his jaw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, I hate to be shoved around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I wring his hands off me and push him back, yanking him immediately back for a rough kiss. Falcon responds with equal force, but I taste his anxiety, feel it along his muscles and scars, hear it in his shaky breaths. But I don't question it. So I fuck him, twice. I don't care if I hurt him. Falcon actually bites me in the neck, Moira is gonna have a field day about this. And I swear, the way he submits, finally, is sweeter than any drug, better than any fuck I've had. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Again, I find my face buried in Falcon's neck afterwards, waiting for the inevitable guilt to come. My arm is loosely draped over his chest, and he holds on to my hand like it’s a lifeline and he’s drowning. I let him hold on to me; I can grant him this one act of kindness. We lay together in total silence, bodies slotted tightly, breathing in sync. With a jolt, I realize I don't feel guilty about this. I don't. It would be almost easier if I did, I would be able to stay away from him. But now, I just feel like... I’m at peace. It's just a flicker of a thought, but I wouldn't change anything about this moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falcon is real quiet, not in a way that he's compiling some regrets. Just thoughtful. He's looking at the ceiling, closed off in his own world. His earlier agitation has seemed to pass. Fucking is the cure for everything, evidently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So are you gonna tell what's with you?" I break the silence, my voice vibrating against his jugular. He sighs, like waking from deep state of dreaming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why should I?" He answers quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay, forget I even asked." Falcon hears the slight reproach in my voice, chooses to ignore it. We stay silent for a while. He starts to unconsciously caress my hand with his calloused fingers, finding a lazy rhythm that makes goosebumps rise on my skin. I have no idea what the fuck we’re doing. I'm used to dirt, hunger and discomfort, not...cuddling another man in the comfort of his warm bed. This isn't me, I'm not some fucking blushing bride-to-be. Especially with another man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falcon wants to say something, I can feel it in his breathing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You can stay, you know, if you want to", he murmurs after some hesitation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"They're gonna ask questions, sooner or later", I remind him lazily, very deliberately evading what he just said. He sighs, chest rising heavily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We'll think of something", he whispers, turning his head so his lips brush against my blond hair. I just close my eyes, trying to ease the sudden choking feeling that creeps up my throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>x</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Capital Wasteland could be described in two words. Dust and dead things. Only the hardest survive, and that applies to humans as well. I've heard some rumors that further down south the bombs didn't hit that hard, that even some plants and trees grow there. Just a rumor in my opinion, people chasing dreams and a world that doesn't exist anymore. I can't even imagine how this place looked like two hundred years ago, I've never even seen a picture of a forest or a meadow. Falcon has, he said. He's seen things, far more than I'll ever will.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So tell me, how's everyone treating you? You settling in?" Falcon's striking for a conversation. Ain't that cute. We're strolling down a bare, dusty hill towards Springvale, an abandoned village of ruins. Both of us have guns half-ready, secured in our arms. You never know when something hits you. His dog runs excitedly well ahead of us, disappearing every now and then behind some rocks, only to reappear a moment later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh they fucking love me, thanks for asking. They only put up with me because they have to." Falcon chuckles mirthlessly at my sarcastic tone. Being with him now feels different. We have actually managed to finish few conversations without ripping each other's throats off.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry, they'll come around", he says, but I can't find any reassurance in his words. The leather armor I'm wearing feels uncomfortable in the afternoon sun. Falcon actually joked about our matching armor and guns, but stopped halfway when seeing my face. This whole thing makes me feel like I'm his little bitch, wagging my tail at every opportunity or favor he throws in my direction, like they're some juicy bones. However, I am glad to get out, this is the first time I've set my foot outside Megaton walls since I came here. When he says jump, I jump, apparently.  We have no idea what we're up against here, the reports couple caravaneers gave to Megatoners were vague at the best. The small town didn't have the firepower, but it has Falcon, and the plan "go out and kill some stuff" sounded very tempting to both of us, when Falcon asked me to come scout with him and take out the killers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't say that! I'm- I'm not one of them, I don't want to be one of them", I snap at him, wondering the second the words come out of my mouth, if this discussion is gonna end up breaking our frail pact of peace. I don't mean my words to be taken too seriously, even if I do feel like a complete outsider in the town that was supposed to be all about goodness of people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Then what? You still a raider then? Who would you choose to be?" Falcon asks carefully. We hardly look at each other when we speak while walking, I don't know if it's a remnant of the time he trailed behind me pointing that gun of his at my back, and we still don’t know how to act any different. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What the- are you some fucking poet now? You know, I'm nobody. At least I used to be somebody, I used to be a free man. Now I'm what? Nothing." He takes in my heated words and frustration quietly. I don't know if it's the guilt that's making him silent. I know he hears the slight blame in my voice. I can't help but still feel bitter about how my life has turned out, although fucking Falcon has taken this whole thing to quite interesting direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stays silent for a while. I try to spot Dogmeat or anything else interesting in the environment. There's a huge, red and white-striped rocket in what used to be a square of the village. I try to imagine all the greenness and life. Happy people strolling along the sidewalk, children running around without the fear of attacks of mutated animals. Can't do it. This is all I know. Dust and dead things. This close to Megaton the number of beasts or raiders are very low, even though I know some raiders at least used to habit the Springvale school. It's all hush-hushed, Moira silences everyone who so much as mentions any bandits when I'm around. I'm feeling kinda on edge because of it too, as there’s no telling what we'll encounter. I can't just shout "don't shoot, I'm one of you!" to them. It has become much more complicated than that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You haven't really told that much about yourself, you know." Falcon breaks the silence again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You haven't really asked, you know", I answer mockingly. Maybe too much alcohol has something to do with my bad mood too. Falcon has stayed in Megaton couple of nights, and most of that time I've spent with him and drinking too much whiskey. For some intel on raiders, he said to Moira. Might take awhile, there's so much to cover, I added. Would that every lie worked so well, only if it could cover up everything we do. "It's not like there is that much to tell either", I continue before he can lash at me, even though he feels like he's only half here. I've seen him emotionless and I've seen him in his full wrath, and at both ends Falcon feels like he can barely contain himself, like the slightest thing sets him off the edge. This is neither. The fact that he's asking about me, the fact that he's "resting" for few days before heading out again, feels very off. Where the other half of him is, I wouldn't know. "I grew up in a small farm, ran away when I was 13, because I couldn't stand the stench of the brahmin anymore. Haven't heard from my family since. Joined the raiders soon after that, but somehow I doubt you want to hear about my time as a raider. So why the sudden interest?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I just... I realized I hardly know anything about you, about where you come from. Lately, I’ve begun to doubt the choices I've made, whether I’ve did the right things- I mean about bringing you here, because you're right you know, about the fact that I'm to blame-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay, shut the fuck up and pull yourself together." I interrupt his abrupt moment of weakness harshly. I stop, glare at him. It bothers me I can't see any of the usual anger in his eyes. It bothers me this bothers him so much. It surprises me too, I never expected him to actually feel like that, even if I direct my blame at him. "I fucking can't stand this wimpy act I'm seeing now, so stop. I don't know anything about you either, but it doesn't prevent me from fucking you, so just fucking stop."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I think you know more about me than anyone else in this forsaken wasteland." Falcon looks straight me in the eye, dead serious. There is something else too, beneath that indifferent face, a crack in the carefully constructed mask, and I don’t want to read into it too much. His confession gets me quiet. I suppose I do. I've seen him at his worst, I've seen him like no one else. And he has seen me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falcon starts moving again, I watch him walk on the remnants of the pavement. He walks like a wolf, I notice. A sad and lonely wolf, but he has placed a lot of trust in me. I trail after him, kicking at a rusty, bent tin can, abandoned on the ground ages ago. It makes a clattering sound, maybe the only loud sound this place has heard in two hundred years. The houses are watching me disapprovingly, like some elders would at a misbehaving youngster. Maybe trust isn't such a bad thing. There's a first time for everything, I guess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly Dogmeat's frantic barking wakes us both from our thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He's found something", Falcon says hurriedly, and I have to run to keep up with his swift pace. We find the dog near a small puddle of muddy and radiated water behind a collapsed house, he jumps up and down and wags his tail, proud of himself. Falcon stops dead on his tracks when he sees the cause of Dogmeat's excitement, and I rush next to him to see what's going on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A dead body. It's a young woman, her hair lighter shade than mine. She's lying on her stomach so we can't see her face, but there's a great amount of blood everywhere around her. I step closer, carefully in case there are traps, kneeling next to her. Seeing dead bodies in the Wastes is so common, it quickly loses its impact. The stench of death isn't strong yet, but I can see the beginnings of rotten flesh where the skin in visible. I turn the body around, her grey, empty eyes are staring at me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You knew her?" I ask. Falcon is right behind me with Dogmeat, the damned dog is panting in my neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Her name was Silver. A whore and a junkie...I helped her once, long ago." He responds quietly. There's sadness in his voice, but not one bit of surprise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, Silver just helped pinpoint our culprit... it ain't humans, from what I can tell", I point to her wounds. The whole torso and upper legs are a mess of deep lacerations, blood and shreds of skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Some smaller animal, the wounds are positioned that way...no deathclaws then, at least." Falcon looks closely at the wounds, sounding little disappointed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You were hoping for some deathclaws, you sick fuck? Sorry hero, you gotta make due," I rise, flash him a cocky grin. He doesn’t exactly smile back, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes. I feel accomplished having gotten away with insulting him. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Let's go, we’ll bury her later. Just be careful where you point that gun this time", he looks at me with dry amusement, reminding me of our last, rather unfortunate encounter with a deathclaw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're still bitter about that? You're the one that gave me the gun, what else I was supposed to do with it?" I have to laugh, of all the things he could hate me for, he picks that one. We start walking again, both of us more alert than before. I glance at the body behind me for the last time, she seems to look at me, lips half open as if she's about say something to me. My laugh dies off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You could've done like I told you to. I really should've left you for those mutants", Falcon sounds serious even when he's joking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You make it sound like it's all some happy adventure we had", I note sarcastically. We both slow down when we come close to the school building, a big and ugly looking thing. Part of it has collapsed, reminding me of some way too oversized torso exploded from the inside, ribs poking out of its stomach. I've seen shit like that. The school casts a large shadow over the other remaining houses in the afternoon sun. Not a soul to be seen. I don't feel that prickling in the hairs on back of my neck I usually do, when something smells of danger, but I remove the safety lock from the gun all the same. Falcon takes point, walks very quietly to the front doors, above them I can still make out the writing "Springvale Elementary", although some of the letters are missing. Yet another reminder of our history, but that's all we get, half-forgotten stories, places and mysteries. The doors are swung open, and there's a foul odor coming from inside. The smell of rot, something sweetly sick and very sour. I wish I had something to cover my face with. He peeks inside, signals me it's okay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I sneak inside behind Falcon, who moves like a foreboding shadow. Even Dogmeat is quiet when he pads after me. Who knows how many battles even that dog has seen. I notice the familiar graffiti sign on the walls. I used to doodle those too. There's a big cage in the center of the lobby, half-mummified, mutilated bodies nailed to the wall, blood stains all over the floor. Feels like home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything is very quiet. We move deeper into the building. I have to admire how well the elementary equipment matches with the blood stains. Looks like a herd of brahmins was butchered here. I steal glances at the classrooms in the grey lighting that reaches the rooms from the cracks on the wall and the ceiling. It's like time is standing still. There’s a toy car abandoned on the floor, its blue paint still visible. And the smell, it's getting stronger the deeper we go. But Falcon creeps forward, without showing any hesitation, as usual. I don't know if the lack of raiders should worry me, or make me thankful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We go past several rooms, but can't see anything. Then I suddenly stop when I peek inside a smaller room, there's a large, unmoving figure in the shadowy corner. I try not to show my jumpiness, I hiss at Falcon and he readies his gun. Dogmeat goes first, carefully moving closer to the figure that's bigger than the dog. It stays motionless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ants. Should've known." Falcon whispers, he goes and kicks the outsized carcass, like he's testing it. The soft, sticky sound it makes sends shivers up my spine. I feel remotely relieved, ants I can handle. Just don't let them come close, Jax always used to say, they'll cut right through your gear. A lesson I've taken to heart. “This must be their nest. Let's clean this place up and then go take out the stragglers." His calm tone clears my head somehow, I just nod without making a sound. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We run into the ants in the basement. All the doors are open, and I can hear the squishy, screeching sounds the ants make even when we descend the stairs. Falcon takes out his precious mines again, places them in the bottom of the stairs, while I take the top of the stairs with Dogmeat by my side in a wordless agreement. Falcon sneaks beside me, looking more alive than I've seen him in a while.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"There's a whole lot of them, but we can take them. The show's on after the blast, so cover me", he murmurs into my ear, pressing very close, readying his gun without a sound. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I will fuck you so hard after this", I whisper back, let my teeth scrape against his ear. Falcon just grins, aims and fires a shot that will alarm the whole nest. This is it. I take a deep breath, try to focus. Can't screw this up, there's only two of us. It's been ages since the last time I've been in a fight, but it all comes back very naturally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I start hear noisy shuffling, the first ants rush towards the stairs. I can't help but poke my head around the corner, see the whole fucking place is swarming with slimy, brown and huge insects. I duck just in time for the fireworks, bits and pieces fling at every direction with a loud bang. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My ears are ringing loudly, and I can’t hear them for few moments. But then they come, and Falcon is ready for them. He pulls out grenades, fires his gun like crazy. I lose track of time, I lose the sense of my body and just let the gun in my hand do the work, it’s easy to aim when there’s a swarm of them charging right at us. Dogmeat is there in the middle of the action, somehow avoiding all the bullets and the vicious bites from their sharp mandibles. The enraged ants don't seem to take notice of any bullets that make huge cracks in their exoskeleton, but still, the pile of carcasses grow in the stairway. A particularly large wave of ants storms forward, trying to target Falcon who is closer to them than I. They just don't learn, I manage to think before letting my gun sing, putting down two of the fuckers. Falcon takes care of three more while I reload, but there’s no end to them. Suddenly he has a large knife in his hand, and he embraces one of the ants in a deadly grip, sinking the blade deep into the creatures' head with a loud roar. The ant twists and writhes, but I have no time to see if he's injured, there are more coming. My whole arm feels numb, my throat dry. Feels like an day has passed, feels like we've been at this forever, even though it must've only been few minutes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I put a bullet through one's head, ready myself for next ones. Only there aren't any more to come. My ears are ringing from the constant gunfire, the silence is almost overwhelming after that. I allow myself to slump against the wall, catching my breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You okay?" I ask Falcon, who has his eyes fixed on where the ants came, like he can't get enough of this. He exhales deeply, tries to shake himself out of it, eyes wild. I know he hasn’t taken any chems, but he looks just like he got his fix. Another, shakier breath and he’s able to turn his eyes to me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, just a few scratches, that's all...you?" That's when I realize none of the ants got even near me. Done by the book, and even lived to tell about it. I shake my head, grinning triumphantly. "It's not over yet", Falcon gives me almost a patronizing look, but I wave it off. He turns his focus on Dogmeat, praising the dog softly. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>I've concentrated on him more than my surroundings, which is why I don't notice the flash of a figure until it's too late. I have just the time to register it's an ant, almost as big as me, when it runs into me, knocking me down violently, snapping those cruel-looking mandibles at my face. I've lost my gun, so I hold it at bay with my hands, trying to kick it off me, in avail. The world is full of noise again, I scream something incoherent, Dogmeat barks, and suddenly the weight is off me. Falcon plunging his blade through the ants' skull again and again furiously, until it goes completely limp. I crawl backwards further from the carcass, muscles trembling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fuck...that was close", I breathe out shakily, eyeing the dead creature next to me, with newly-gained respect. It would've killed me if Falcon wasn't here. I didn't have any chance against it. Falcon kneels beside me hurriedly, with a look of worry on his face. I notice my hands are bleeding when I reach for my rifle.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"We should get your hands bandaged", he points out, checking my body for further injuries, gripping my hands. I shoo him off and scramble to my feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Later, let's go kill the rest of these fuckers", I shake my head distractedly, just wanting to get out of this corridor. The blood is making my grip on the handle slippery, but I hold the gun very tightly. The pain helps me to direct my thoughts at something else, I don't want to show how much the damn thing startled me. Falcon doesn't push it further, but he stays very close to me, the overprotective asshole, like he's my bodyguard and I'm just a weak child. For once, I don't make any remarks about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There's a cave starting from the basement, the narrow tunnel leading deep into the rocky ground. There are some ants there that somehow missed all the action, but we can't find the ant queen. The tunnel just stops abruptly, and we turn back. Based on Falcon's descriptions on the queens, I'm glad we don't encounter one. I'm full of these eight-legged fuckers, and I just want to drown myself in whiskey. I'm full of this place too, the fucking history lesson of the day, how everything used to be different and better. Every room, every piece of furniture, burned books and forgotten toys tell the same story, you can't get away from it even if you want to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We find the raiders on the second floor. The smell of rot is stronger there, masking the stench of the ant nest beneath. The bodies lay sprawled across the rubble, limbs bloated and twisted unnaturally. Neither of us say a word. The silence almost forbids it. I wonder who these raiders were, whether I knew them. I turn the closest one on his back with my foot, but death has altered his features unrecognizable. I notice three bullet wounds on his chest. Something didn't kill these people, someone did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Did you kill them?" My blank words cut through the heavy silence. The whole room seems to holding its breath, the dead are listening. Falcon shuffles behind me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Does it matter?" He answers after a while, sounding just as emotionless as I did. I look at the bodies. They all look the same, there is no individuality in death. I could be one of them. I wonder what did they do here, how many people they robbed, raped and killed. How many of them were actually bad people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, I suppose not." He's right. They are all just corpses in the end, and even the strong ties I had to the raiders can't make me feel shit for an unknown person. Sympathy is a funny thing. There's a body of a junkie and a whore outside, and these guys weren't exactly saints either, but Falcon still felt something when he saw her body. For these guys though... I still remember how he attacked us, the ruthless extermination that took place within seconds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falcon walks past me slowly, stopping in front of a bloated corpse of a man, staring at it deep in thought. I wait. Something about his withdrawn look, the way he carries himself, all slumped and downcast, tell me more than words ever could. I'm almost afraid to move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's my dad", he finally speaks, each word more difficult than the previous one, at last answering to all my unasked questions. "He died." His voice breaks down to a whisper. He refuses to look at me, but I see a jolt of pain twisting his features. I'm not sure what to do. All the signs were there, telling something bad had happened, but I didn’t expect this. "And he- he said he was proud of me, right before he died", Falcon forces the words out of his mouth. I’ve never seen him like this, so broken, and my body refuses to move. I want to touch him. I want to hold him. I feel so useless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"But...I'm not. I'm not proud of what I am." He shakes his head, swallowing the sorrow and the weakness that threatens to break loose. I finally find the courage to step closer, place my bloody hand clumsily on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shit... I'm sorry", I say clumsily. My mouth is filled with rocks instead of words. Falcon backs away from my touch, avoiding my eyes. He heads back downstairs hastily, leaving only emptiness behind where he just stood. His rejection hurts more than it should've, it suddenly becomes so much harder to breathe. We're miles away from each other, me and Falcon, and the vast distance stings harder it should’ve. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>x</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The vast lowland stretches further than the eye can see. The world is there, beyond my reach. I stand on a hill, let the breeze ruffle my short hair. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Jose! Jose! Get away from there!" Mom. She sounds frantic. I don't react to her presence until she's climbed near enough so I can hear her puffing and gasping for breath. I'm thinking of running though. Who knows how far I would get if I took off now. "How many times have I told you not to wonder off?" She asks, sounding almost desperate. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What do you mean "wander off"? The ranch is right there!" I reply, irritated as hell. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You know what happened to your brother-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I'm not as stupid as him. Look mom, there's not a single fucking thing alive in this goddamn desert!" I wave my hand vaguely in the direction of the plain, but she just shakes her head, strict as always. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"That's what your brother thought too, and now you're my only son. I need to keep you safe." I feel trapped, I feel angry, misunderstood. I want to escape, turn now and run away as far as possible. Instead, I follow her, like a dog on a leash. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back then, her words made me feel like a prisoner. Now, it just shows me she cared for me. I stay in my half-dreaming state for a while longer, enjoying the warmth. Maybe I didn't do right by them, by running off. Perhaps I oughta go visit them, someday, if they’re still alive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sudden noise wakes me up completely. A woman’s voice, but I can't make out the words, the wall muffles them. I roll over, notice the other side of the bed is completely cold. I get up and dress quietly, trying to hear what she's saying. One of the deeper gashes on my hand has begun to bleed again. I don’t bother bandaging it up. I sneak to the doorway of the neighboring room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"-And help stop mine. I changed the door password to my name. If you're hearing this, and if you still care enough to help me, you should remember it." I catch the end of the message, and it starts again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I look inside and stop abruptly, forgetting the message that instant. Falcon has his back towards me, crouching next to his backpack. On the floor, there are pile of chems. I see Jet, Med-X and even Psycho. Falcon seems to be in the middle of sorting through empty syringes and inhalers. I never realized he used drugs this much, he's hidden it so well from everyone, from me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You know that shit's gonna kill you, right?" I make my presence known, leaning against the doorframe. Falcon jolts, startled. He turns towards me, looking very defensive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What the- you're spying on me now?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The door was open, and anyone could hear you rummaging through your drugs." I point out dryly. Anyone could sense the war brewing between us. It's there, roaring in the distance. I have natural talent for pissing off Falcon, now that I've learned what buttons to push. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't need any advice, especially from someone like you", he says coldly. I feel like someone punched me. I shouldn't, I should be used to this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What do you mean, from me?" My words drip ice, but my insides feel like they are on fire. Burning with rising anger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh come on, don't act so innocent. You've taken drugs, tortured and killed people, you are a fucking criminal." Falcon looks at me, I see the same look that he used to have in the beginning. Contempt, anger, the makings that he is somehow superior than me. Something dies within me that second. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And pray tell me, how is that any different from what you're doing right now?" I ask heatedly. Falcon swallows. He doesn't have an answer for that. I continue before he can lash back at me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And for the record, I barely could afford drugs, and you're the one that shot and beat me up and killed my friends. So who THE FUCK is the criminal now?" I almost yell the last words. Something breaks between us, permanently. Falcon rises, the embodiment of rage. I half expect him to attack me once again but he controls himself, barely. He smashes the stack of syringes on the ground. The little pieces shatter everywhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I do good things! I'm doing stuff that no one else is willing to do, get my hands bloody for everyone else!" He yells back, points that judging finger of his at me like some preacher would at sinners. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is that what you tell yourself? Saint Falcon, the drug addict and the savior of the wicked?! Tell me, why did you attack us?" I step closer, feeling the fury in my stomach, fingers, the tightness around my mouth. I want to break his arrogant face. He holds his ground. This is it, all the frustration and the tension between us just breaks loose, all the questions that have lingered are there on my lips again, and I need to hurt him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why? Because it's my fucking duty to kill my enemies." He states rigidly, jaw clenched tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"By sneaking behind our backs using a stealth tech- don't deny it I know have plenty of those- and massacring us? You could've easily avoided us and we never would've even noticed." I press further, driving him a step back. That anger that I've almost forgotten comes back with full force, the anger I had back when he was the captor and me the prisoner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You fucking think you know everything? Maybe I needed the money, who the fuck cares?" Falcon suddenly avoids my eyes, he knows his argument is weak. I have him where I want him, but I can't feel any joy, I can't enjoy the power I have over him, I'm too fucking angry. I feel deceived, to have thought he accepted at least a part of me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You didn't take anything from our stash, nor the bodies. You did it because you could, because you love the killing, you need the adrenaline rush like a drug. You’re a junkie. You're just like the rest of us, flesh and blood and bones, there is no difference between you or me, so don't try to act all fucking superior to me." I grab his chin, force him to look at me. Falcon has the look of a cornered beast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Get the fuck out." He growls, slapping my hand away fast. I know I hit the bullseye then. He doesn't even try to deny my words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're like a fucking god to these people! They want to feel you're somehow better than any of them, but you AREN'T!" I spread my hands, taking couple steps back. It's like an invitation which he can't refuse. He grabs my collar roughly, eyes almost burning with hate, so similar to mine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Get the fuck out of my house and don't you dare to come back." He hisses the heavy words one by one, so near my face I can smell the remains of Jet he has taken. I almost stagger back at the weight of his words. A heartbeat passes, feels like a eternity. Falcon sees the look in my eyes, the hurt I can't hide. Something in him changes, like he’s waking up, realizing what he has said. He opens his mouth, no words come out. And my anger comes back, a raging whirlwind, a storm that rips out anything I used to feel. I explode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You get the FUCK OUT my life! Why did you have to come ruin it for me, huh? You fucking ruined my life the second I saw you!" I rip his hand away from my collar, push him back violently. He almost loses his balance, stumbling on those syringes lying discarded on the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well you fucking ruined MINE!" He roars back, any remorse he felt, forgotten. I can't take it anymore. The sight of him makes me sick. I wish he had killed me back then. I wish he had died. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don’t fucking kid yourself, without me you'd be jerking off in a some bush and feeling guilty about yourself, and you just lost the one person you didn't have to lie to about yourself! So good luck with the rest of your life!" I snarl, turning my back on him and walking away, down the stairs and out of the door, out of his life. The closing door feels finite, but I can't bring myself to feel sorrow. I won't allow myself to feel that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>x</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"See here? We need to replace the sear too", Moira points to one, tiny piece the disassembled gun on the table. She may miss a lot when dealing with humans, but with weapons I've never seen anybody more skilled than her.  "Wouldn't it be cool if we built a targeting system for that new missile launcher?" She continues excitedly. I chuckle, she's like a kid with these things. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"With what, scrap metal?" We work side by side, cleaning and repairing weapons. Bones has gone out, so for a while I don't have to worry whether his stare is gonna burn a hole right through me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't be so negative, you can always find some fitting parts", Moira pats my arm, smiling. I don't know what word could describe our relationship best. Buddies? Mainly we talk about guns. Fixing, crafting, cleaning, selling and buying guns. Perhaps if the situation would've been different, the word would've been fuck buddies. But I respect her and the trust she places in me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You wound me, I'm not negative. I'm the sun, sugar bombs and all the other positive things combined." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Really? You've been kinda down these last few weeks." Well, shit. Scratch that part about how Moira can't read people. I thought I'd hidden it well, but I guess long bouts of silence do stand out from my usual behavior. The clash between me and Falcon won't leave me be, it presses me like a sore, infested wound. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone like you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His words cut deeper than I would've allowed. Somehow I feel betrayed, how he coaxed me into believing that I was more than shadows of my past, and then revealing that he was just like everybody else. Above me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You aren't getting tired of living here, right? It is kinda cramped here, and no privacy at all. I could ask around if they could rent that empty house for you if you'd like." She sounds genuinely concerned. I shake my head, eyes focused on the little parts that threaten to roll down from the bumpy table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't think folks around here would appreciate the idea very much", I deflect the question. It's not that I wouldn't appreciate little more privacy, but settling here would feel too permanent. This isn't how I pictured my life to be. This isn't me, not my life and I am not really living. I get up every morning, do my work, talk shop, but I'm not really here, I’m not living. It’s like I'm waiting to wake up, but trying to keep my head under water at the same time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You care about what they think that much?" Moira makes a disbelieving face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, they aren't exactly thrilled about me. Let's just- I just don't think this is a good idea." I wave my hand, like I want to bat away an annoying insect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"They will come around", she says. Falcon said the exact thing. I don't want to think about him. I force a smile and concentrate on my work. When did I become so gloomy? I used to talk and laugh a lot, I used to like being the center of attention. Now I can only brood and be cynical. There's no one here that will wonder how much I've changed, all they know is this. The thought makes me feel alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bones comes rushing through the door, looking urgent and worried. "Moira, you'd better come quick, there might be some trouble." I follow them, even though I clearly wasn't invited. Bones leads us hurriedly towards the main gates of Megaton. There's a large crowd gathered there. I push through the mass to see what's the ruckus about. Some of them mutter, obviously displeased by my rudeness. I stop when I see three soldiers in black armor, their helmets shaped like heads of snarling dogs. With their green, slightly glowing eyes, they look more mutated beasts than humans. They all carry energy weapons, expensive and brand new. They mean trouble, you wouldn't need eyes to see it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The Enclave would appreciate your cooperation in this urgent matter", one of them says, his voice sounding muffled and metallic through the helmet. The Enclave? They can't be serious. Most of the crowd don't react to his words, some of the people that arrived in our wake whisper and exchange looks. Jenny Stahl stands next to me, looking grim. I thought the Enclave wasn't real. They couldn't be, with all those patriotic speeches and promises to make this country new again. But I guess everything is possible, the wonders of the Wasteland has proved that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I repeat, has anyone seen this man?" The same man lifts a large photograph. The other two men scan the crowd, probably looking for any reactions, any signs of recognition. I'm not even surprised that it's Falcon. It's a bad-quality photograph, but anyone could make out his mohawk and long, hook like-nose. Everyone is quiet, some of them try to hide their discomfort, eyes shying away from the photo, some are shaking their heads vaguely. How easily are they willing to give up their hero?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Our intel tells us that this man frequently visits this town." His green eyes glide over me, I don't back away from his challenge, I stare back. This is not going to end well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Any trouble here would be most unwanted, we just want the info. Help us, and we will leave quietly." Is that the only warning we get, our one chance? The threat hangs in the air, but not a single person is willing to step up or rat out. They're scared, I realize. Of the Enclave and what the others will do if they rat out Falcon. Official people have always pissed me off. They come and tell you what you have to do and what you can't do, thinking they are so much better than you. I feel something stir, some little piece of my old self. I step up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You think you can come here, making threats and demands? You think you have the right?" Everyone’s eyes fix on me, some look surprised, like they didn't know I had this much fight in me. The soldiers just look at me, without showing any reaction. Ice men. None try to silence me. Now don't get me wrong, this is not me trying to defend people, this is me waving my middle finger at authorities. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You government lap dogs have sticks up your ass buried so deep, you think every citizen of your fine country will be grateful to pull it out from there! Everyone knows how this fucking play works, you threaten and make people disappear. Well, I have some news for you - we ain't gonna give shit to the likes of you, so you can just get the fuck-" I see one of the soldiers point his laser rifle at me. The next second passes in slow motion. I try to leap back, still mouthing the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>out </span>
  </em>
  <span>when the beam hits me. The sound of screams feels distorted. I have no idea whether it's my screams or somebody else's. Next thing I know I've fallen to the ground, my mouth tastes of blood and dust and my left leg feels like it's on fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I try to say something but indistinctive groans are the only thing that come out of my mouth. It feels like the whole leg just burned off. I try not to breathe so loud, even that makes jolts of pain go up my body. I hear the soldiers speak again, but I can't concentrate on their words, it isn't important anymore. I twist my head slightly, catch a glimpse of the wound. It looks like part of my calf is missing, but it's hard to tell with all the raw, burned muscle tissue. I close my eyes, hands shaking, breathing in small, shallow gasps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"A lot of people pass through Megaton, and we don't keep record of every traveler, so it's possible he has visited us." Jenny's words cut through the red haze. So they decided to remain loyal. That seems to be the extent of their good deeds, no one seems even worried that the fuckers just shot me. Where the fuck is Moira? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Remember, the Enclave is not forgiving to any liars, and any information regarding this man will be met with a reward. We will go easy on you this time, but next time we are not afraid to use any method available to get our results." The metallic voice sounds displeased, having faced the wall of devotion. I would've thanked the soldiers for going so easy on me, if I had the strength and the nerve. I wish I could just pass out, I've never experienced a pain like this. I just try to breathe slowly, staying as still as possible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All of the footsteps and the silent murmurs recede. I hear the rusty gates opening and closing. Blessed silence. They're really gonna leave me alone here. Actually I'm thankful, the thought of moving is excruciating. I will just rest here for a minute. Then I hear the sound of running, thumping against the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jose! Oh my god it was you! Are you all right?" Moira. She places her hand on my shoulder, shaking me. I turn my head to give a her something that resembles a grin, although it comes out more as of ugly grimace. She will appreciate it probably all the same. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What took you so long?" I ask, my voice betraying the grief that the leg is causing me. I was never really good dealing with pain. It occurs to me that I could've stayed silent this time too and avoided my rather unfortunate encounter with a laser rifle. I could've, but I didn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moira looks at me, frantic, red strands of hair escaping from the crudely fashioned ponytail. "We need to take you to the Doc!" She looks at the wound and shakes her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Relax, it's not that bad...and I'd rather just lay here for a while", I croak half-jokingly. She just shakes her head again, lips pursed decisively. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Come on, get up." It's just a leg. Just a flesh wound on my leg, I try to tell myself, when I sit up and get on my feet with Moira's help. Should be such an easy feat for a person, but it's the most difficult I've come upon. I groan and bite my lip, trying to swallow the pain and wishing I was unconscious. Falcon made it look so easy, walking around and fighting with wounds worse than he killed his enemy with, like he didn’t feel a thing. He probably didn’t, now that I think on it, judging from the pile of Med-X syringes I saw dumped on the floor. The wound throbs viciously with every cautious step I take, leaning on her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The way to the Doc Church feels like the longest trip I've taken. Shot in the arm didn't feel like anything compared to this. Couple of the settlers stare at us, unmoving, unconcerned, when we make our slow descend down the slope, past the lonely brahmin and finally into the Doc's office. He emerges from the back room, scowling, when we make our noisy entry, me grunting and limping like a wounded beast. The Doc just nods towards the examination table, expression unchanged, and I make the last push, the last heaving steps before I struggle onto the table with Moira’s help. That little moment when I rest my head against the cool surface feels blissful, until the probing begins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"This is one ugly burn. I trust you will compensate for my full services?" He speaks to Moira, assessing my leg. I could be a hunk of meat for all I know, the way he refuses to address me. Moira assures she will pay whatever necessary, while I try to block out the hot needles and unpleasant touches that ignite my wound. I raise my head a little, struggle to glimpse at the wound again, but the good doctor presses me back in a inhospitable manner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Will you take my leg?" I ask, voice unsteady and hoarse. I don't panic, I don't scream or cry. There's a small part of me that is screaming, but I don't let it out. Truth be told I feel noble, cool, like Falcon would probably feel, completely indifferent of his wounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nobody's going to take your fucking leg, so shut your mouth", Church snaps at me, eyes on the wound. He pokes it and I yelp. And I feel like an idiot again. An relieved idiot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So...I'm going to be okay?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The muscle and the tendons are badly damaged, the problem is that the burn severed them. Good thing is that the bone is untouched. So you will limp probably for the rest of your life, but other than that, you're fit as a fiddle." This time Doc actually addresses me, although he breaks the news quite bluntly. He's a seasoned man, has seen all kind of things, the kind of man that doesn't bother to soften things up. Moira whimpers empathetically. I just nod. Outcast and cripple. Fitting. The news don't shock me, I actually feel just blank. I will have time to feel angry and mourn for my agility, now I just need to survive the treatment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I need to fetch couple of supplies, I'll be back in a minute", Doc says gruffly and heads for the supply closet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I ain't going nowhere", I state dryly, but my words fall on deaf ears. Once we're by ourselves, Moira takes my hand. Her hand feels so soft and warm, unlike Falcon's calloused and bony fingers. Hands that haunt me. I give her a little squeeze and she smiles gently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What on earth came over you back there? I've never seen you like that." She asks quietly, searching my eyes for any answers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I just dislike authority figures", I say vaguely, shrugging. I feel so tired, my body heavy as a stone. I break away from her stare, so tired of hiding myself from her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I think what you did was brave. You stood up for those people when they were scared." She actually sounds proud. Proud and pained for my injury. What I did wasn't brave, and I didn't do it for anyone, I want to say. Instead I smile, little bitterly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And where were those people when I got shot and left behind?" Moira's smile falters, she flinches, as if slapped. But she recovers quickly, pulls back her cheerful face muscle by muscle, like a puppeteer. "They will come around", she says. This time I can hear the hesitation and her ever-present optimism doesn’t feel real at all. Like a simple question has erased her faith.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>x</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People throw all kinds of things in the dumpster. After the war, the landfills became their own treasure islands, filled with luxuries of the Old World. At least so I've heard. Even now, without any real renewable resources, people keep throwing away completely reusable stuff, like ignorant children. No matter how much they experience war, poverty and death, people will never change. They refuse to change. The same could be said about me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I'm going through the dumpsters behind Moriarty's Saloon. I know, I know - what the fuck am I doing, but Moira used to do this, until I relieved her of this particular duty. I pick up an used energy cell here, wrecked scrap electrics there. Mostly this is a waste of my time, as I go through broken bottles, rotten food, and come across rarer things, like teddy bears, half burned books and pieces of worn out clothing. Still, it's a important mission, not to be taken lightly, as we regularly find working spare parts here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Against my usual habits, I'm doing this at midday. An abnormity, which I will curse later that day. The door of the saloon opens and closes soundly, and the noises brought on by my sloppy rummaging attracts footsteps to my direction. I'm not that worried, the drunkards don't start usually this early.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jose! The hooligan of Megaton!" Moriarty's high-pitched voice greets me. The man who has always watched me from afar, with a rather unpleasantly smug look on his tanned face. He spreads his muscular arms in a greeting, like he wants to embrace me, cigarette drawing smoky lines in the air on his other hand. "How's the leg?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just dandy." I carefully examine a broken radio, discarded on the bottom of the dumpster. Dandy is very far from the truth, the leg hurts like hell when I walk, even with the crutch. The doc tried to stitch me up as best as he could, but there's only so much you can do, when a part of your leg is just burned away. My insolence will slowly turn me into a deformity. Give it time, Moira always comforts me, it's only been couple of weeks. A weak comfort.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I was kinda hoping we would have a chance to talk. You're always locked away in that little shop of yours, mind you." He sounds so friendly. Friendly makes me nervous. I look at him sharply, see the intrusive glint in his eyes. The man never does anything without a purpose, I recall Falcon saying. "No need to be alarmed, I just want to offer a deal. I was on your side when you came here, remember?" Moriarty grooms his bristling, white beard, offering a wide smile. His accent sounds strange. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well alright, entertain me", I shrug. He laughs, looking around like he's sharing some inside joke with an invisible audience. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Straight to business then." He steps closer. This deal apparently isn't meant for any prying ears, judging from the way he becomes more cautious and glances around before speaking. "The thing is, I could arrange your disappearance from Megaton if you wanted, whatever you want to call it. Including a gun and the caps. I know you are still being guarded. Surely a man starts to miss his freedom after a while." My heart stops beating for a fleeting moment. Don't let him catch you unguarded, I remind myself. There's always a catch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And all I have to do, is...?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Smart kid, I like you. Well, due to some unfortunate events, I'm missing a drug mule. And I know that raiders have strong ties to chem dealers. And now, I'm thinking that you have still some ties to them, and perhaps your aided escape would inspire so much gratitude, that you'd become my middle man. There's money in this line of work, if you're just smart enough to take it. So, how about it?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My thoughts have frozen. I'm searching his slick face for any sign of lies or hidden agendas. Perfect poker face, that one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I...I need to think about it." It feels as my tongue doesn't fit in my mouth anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're hoping you could discuss this with someone? Maybe Falcon? You two seem like close. I hope not, this is for your ears alone." He could've placed a gun between us for all I know, the threat hangs in the air all the same. He has gripped me tight, I feel his cold intent tightening around my neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That was for- for strategic purposes. He needed some info. We're done with that." The words ring hollow in my ears. I'm awakening from a long dream, to taste the shit and ashes left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, is that it?" Moriarty sounds mockingly sincere. Then his expression vanishes, and all I see are the icy, calculating wheels turning in his head, ever planning, scheming. "Look, not everyone here is as innocent as Moira. Some may already suspect. It'd be a shame if they found out about your...adventures. And they will, if you delay your answer too long." He presses his face very close to mine, words dangling from his lips like bits and pieces of unfortunate prey. I finally find my voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You give me no fucking choice. You speak about an offer, but all I hear are threats. And what makes you think I won't just run away with your caps?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I will kill you. Every man I've promised this, has died." I've heard much intimidation in my lifetime. I've never believed any of them like this. Feels like a rock has been dropped through my insides. I feel completely cornered, the sweet promise has turned to promise of carnage. I wish I could find the raider-part of me right now, scream in his face that I don't need to listen to his fucking threats. But the courage avoids me, once I actually would need it. Moriarty smiles innocently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't hate the player, Jose. It's just business and I need you." I trail my hand along my jaw, touch the coarse stubble I forgot to shave again. I don't know why I hesitate. I could be out of this village by tomorrow. I could be a powerful man, have money, chems and everything I wanted. But something keeps me. It's more than the rotten smell of treachery coming off this man. I don't know what it is, just some primal instinct or unseen chain that has bound me to this place. Maybe I realize there's little real freedom in his offering, I would be as much bound to him, as I'm now bound to this place. I can't just say yes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The footsteps that rattle the metallic bridge cease our staring contest. Moriarty breaks into wide smile and walks to greet the intruder. "Our hero returns!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You know flattery doesn't work on me." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Of all the days, of all the moments, of all the seconds, Falcon arrives, like the unwanted knight in his unpolished armor. Ragged and thin, but alive. His blue hair flares in deep color, freshly dyed. He's alive. His reserved grin dissipates when he sees me. I want to pretend I don't exist. That he doesn't exist. I concentrate on my share of meager treasure and weigh the bag. I curse in my mind I didn't take my crutch with me in a fit of pride, as it makes my exit more difficult. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We were just talking about you", Moriarty drapes his arm around Falcon's shoulders and leads him next to me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"All good, I hope", he jokes tensely, with a thin smile on his scarred lips. The fucking man has the fucking nerve to come here telling jokes. I force myself to look upon him. Let us play the hospitable friends then. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jose was just telling how he has helped you in great deal." Moriarty points at me with the half-burned cigarette, further sinking us into the ridiculous play. Our little secret, his eyes tell me. I want to break his face. Falcon glances at me, frowns at the slightest. His face would do as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Indeed he has." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moriarty pats his back and takes a step back. "You must excuse me, I must get back to my duties. You must have much to discuss after a long absence." Every note of his speech bears a mocking tone, his eyes a knowing look. Back to serving no-lives and drunkards. I just nod stiffly and Falcon raises his hand in greeting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once he's gone, a deep silence settles between us. Megaton is quiet today, nearly everyone is listening to that mad bastard Cromwell in their lame excuse for a church. I don't even want to breathe the very air they inhale and exhale out of their irradiated lungs. Falcon stays there unmoving, looking at his feet. I've known enough of his silences to know that he's seeking for the right words to say to me. I hoist the bag from the ground and attempt to leave, without even looking at Falcon. A stab of pain crawls up my leg, and I try my best to hide it. I don't hide it well enough. He vaguely points at the ragged bandages around my leg. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I hear you stood up for me", he states in that ever quiet voice of his, without quite looking at me. Did the man forget I want nothing to do with him anymore, that he wanted me out of his miserable life? I stop next to him, grit my teeth. I always feel that hole in my cheek where Falcon's fist parted two of my teeth from my mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I didn't do it for you", I grunt. What more could he want from me anymore? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Then why?" He asks, glancing at me sideways. He doesn't sound like the cold, aloof Falcon I've used to known. He sounds broken. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Because assholes telling me what to do, piss me off. So what if I will limp the rest of my life, how the fuck does it concern you?" I gather my strength again, take a step, but Falcon grips my arm, desperation in his movement. His fingers are cold. He tries to seek my eyes, a privilege that I deny him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Look, I want to talk about the last time-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"FUCK  THE LAST TIME!" I roar, yanking my arm from his tight grasp. I've had enough. Everyone just comes and think they can do whatever the fuck they want with me. I've had enough with Moriarty, with Falcon, with scheming and drama. "I respected your wish to and got the fuck out of your life, so you should respect MINE. I don't think we have nothing further to say to each other", I hiss right in his face. Falcon has new scars tracing along his scalp, I notice. He fucking deserves them. The afternoon sun greets my hateful words, as it appears behind a wisp of a cloud. The scorch and the brightness of it blinds my eyes and I have to turn away to hide the tears swelling in my eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand falls to his side, absent any trace of fight left within him. Finally. I'm glad it's the two of us alone to witness this conversation, even a dog could've sniffed the true nature of our relationship by the way we avoid each other's gaze, like guilty men. I start limping away from him, my feet heavy. He stays there, like a statue. Just when I get so far from him that I can breathe again, he speaks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You were right what you said then, you were right about me. I'm no better than anyone else." Somehow every word reaches me, though he speaks quietly. And now he fucking realizes it? Jesus fucking Christ, couldn't he just leave me be? I have no way of dealing with this, the whole situation just makes me sick inside. I turn back, hobble back few unsure paces so I can let him see I'm not about to give into his misery. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do you have any idea how it feels when everybody treats you like shit?" I ask him, voice dark with anger. Falcon opens his mouth to answer, but I silence him with my stare. "No, you don't." Frustration lashes in his brown eyes, his jaw tightens. That's my boy. He closes in the distance between us, despite my warning looks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Look, I'm trying to apologize-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah? You're gonna sing me a pretty song about how we are supposed to be together, and you love and miss me?" My words were meant to be only ironic as I conjure up a bitter smile, but Falcon's newly determined expression falters, like he’s been caught. A terrible silence settles between us, a pressing, suffocating silence. Shit. Feels like all the hatred I’ve bottled up shrinks, until I feel nothing. I don't know what to feel. Time stands still as we stay there, frozen. I feel chilled in my sleeveless, oil-patched shirt, when the mild breeze caresses my skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I was kinda hoping I wouldn't have to", Falcon mumbles, looking at his feet. Shit. This wasn't supposed to go like this. Suddenly all the emotions hit me again like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What the fuck?!" I burst out, throwing the sack of looted goods to the ground, not caring if the broken parts would shatter and I'd have to start my work all over again. Falcon flinches, withdrawing from my proximity. "What the fuck, Falcon? Are you insane? Do not confuse what we do with something else, you don't get to feel like that! We aren't in a fucking relationship, we just fuck. Do you fucking understand me? And if anyone knew even about that- just...what the</span>
  <em>
    <span> fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" I run my fingers roughly through my dirty hair, trying to distract my hands from doing anything more aggressive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I know we're not like that..." He mutters, without meeting my eyes, sounding very unconvincing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do you?" I pressure further. I feel like a parent lecturing a disobedient child. Finally he looks me in the eye, and I can see a flash of pain and defiance mingled together in them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What would you have me do then? I can't take back what I said back then, but would you just please accept my apology?" There is desperation in his tone, and he tries to hold back all the frustration he must've kept within him all these weeks. In fact, I didn't even know Falcon could handle situations like these in so civilized manner. He must be serious. I'll give him that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I glance at the direction of Moira's house, seeking the suitable words.  My thoughts halt when I see someone staring right at us from her balcony. It's one of the newer settlers, I have no idea who the fuck he is. The man's stare makes me very uneasy. Falcon follows my gaze, and the man walks away at a leisurely pace. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shit...I- I'll come talk to you later." I gather my trashed belongings from the ground. Falcon takes a step back, looking for a way salvage the situation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'll wait", he promises and then makes his hasty exit, when he notices I don't plan to waste of my breath on him. I wish there was a way to wipe out all of this from my memory, my head is on the verge of exploding with unwanted thoughts. I have no fucking idea what I'm going to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>x</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mouth is fire. And my cock is feeding the flames. I grip Falcon's hair tightly as he swallows me whole, back arching like a desperate man in ecstasy. His fingers dig deep into the muscles of my thighs in an attempt to hold me still, but I push him deeper, ignoring his protests. Let him suffer. Waves of familiar pleasure crawl through my body and tighten around my stomach, when he twirls his tongue around my cock. The whole world just stops existing, right there. I groan and gasp and bite my lip so I won't scream, but when I finally come, I shudder and breath catches in my throat, allowing me only to suck few shallow mouthfuls of air into my burning lungs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I fall back into the lumpy mattress like a deflated balloon, without any strength in my limp muscles. Fuck, it has been too long since the last time. I don't bother with the clothes, I rather just kick the rest of the pants on the floor, welcoming the coolness against the heat of my skin. Falcon crawls from the floor next to me, leaning in to kiss me. I push him off me none-too gently before he can touch my lips, still annoyed. "If you wanna taste my fucking cock, then by all means, but keep your mouth off me then", I remind him, my voice a bit unsteady. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sorry", he mumbles without his usual irritation and proceeds to climb into the bed, and I make myself more comfortable by resting my head against his marred stomach when he settles down.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, you say that", I say with my eyes closed. And yeah, I know I came here to talk. But things didn’t go necessarily according to the plan. I was angry. I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>beyond </span>
  </em>
  <span>angry, I was ready to fuck him up. I still am, but I said it myself, it's just fucking, nothing else. I had become too invested in this. Why bother with the relationship-like arguing and apologizing and talking endlessly, when you gain nothing from it? Talking, Falcon tried it when I burst in from the door, apologizing too, but I told him I wasn't interested in that. I told him to shut up, and my offer stands for only fucking him, and he didn't try to argue with me, for once. He may have said some hurtful things, I may hate him for it, but if one word would be truly capable of erasing all the bad blood and hurt, everyone would happy and I'd be living in perfectly normal suburban area, as my beautiful wife would wave her goodbyes from the front porch. But I guess I stopped believing in fairytales like that when I saw the first time my dad put a bullet right between a scavenger's eyes, scattering his brains like raw minced meat. "Don't take any pointless baggage in your life, son", he said. "You will drag it around until it kills you." So there's nothing but this, simple pleasure, skin against skin. No excessive words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falcon caresses my face, traces soft patterns on my forehead, my nose, my lips. I won't lie, his rough fingers soothe the remnants of the anger away, little by little. He touches the broken bone on the bridge of my nose, mapping the damage he once did. "I'm sorry about your nose too", he whispers, sounding too apologetic to my taste. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you saying you shouldn't gotten so angry I called you a faggot right to your face?" I may be in bed with him, but that doesn't mean I have to be nice. Falcon does this silent chuckle, I feel it in the muscles of his abdomen rather than hear it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, maybe you deserved that." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Careful now, I still might flip out any moment if you stop sucking up to me. No pun intended." It occurs to me that this is the first time I actually feel relaxed in weeks. I haven’t forgiven him, I just simply ignore the bad blood between us. Our relationship, for what's it worth, has been without any good qualities right from the beginning. We can’t stand each other, but I can’t stay away from him either. "So, have you always known that you are, you know, gay?" I ask him after a brief pause. Falcon tenses up immediately and pulls away his hand. Oddly, I find myself missing for his touch the second he stops. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't want to talk about that", he retorts, clearly very discomforted. I crane my neck and try to find his eyes, but he avoids my gaze. I lift myself to a sitting position, muscles protesting, frowning slightly. Falcon stays down, leaning against the wall, bare chested.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's just a harmless question, why are you so touchy about everything?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I've had enough of your harmless questions." Not again. I should remember my own rule, no words. But then again, I've never been one to follow any rules. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Come on, don't be an asshole. Let's make it a game, a truth for a truth." Falcon groans, but doesn't protest any longer. Easy victory. I reach out for an unopened bottle of beer, forgotten momentarily on the table beside the bed. It makes a welcoming sound as I twist away the cap, tasting just as bitter and sweet as it should be. Spoils of victory. "So, let's hear it then."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"How long have I known? I don't know... maybe I've always known it, but I was afraid. I couldn't let anyone suspect a thing. And finding someone can be so hard here, without- without you I think I could've gone on alone, just as I had up until that point." I sense hidden gratitude in his voice, even though he seems hesitant to voice his thoughts. I take a sip from my bottle, to escape from answering him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why did you become a raider? What were you trying to get away from?" Falcon suddenly focuses on me. Right, this was a game, it works in two ways. I ponder for a heartbeat how honest should I be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It wasn't like that. I just wanted...to be free, to live life as I chose to live. All the restrictions, the sickening worry of others, the mundane normal living, it just wasn't for me. I thought the raiders were so cool and so self-reliant, I thought with them I could find more independence and a fuck them-attitude. I was such a green, scared boy back then, it was easy to brainwash me to think I owned the world."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do you regret the things you've done?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Regret? I-I don’t know. Yes. I thought the price of freedom was to step on others, but the thing is, some of them are cruel people, sadists who thrive on violence, and I stood silent while people were being tortured and killed. I ruined so many lives, Falcon. I was so convinced that being one of them was the answer, but it- it was just another cage for me. I needed to be brutal to survive there, but I wasn’t brutal enough." Suddenly I feel ill. I drink the bottle half-empty, wanting to drown myself in it. This is it then. The one big, ugly truth. I was just another coward, and joining the raiders was never the right answer for me. They destroyed something in me, and I let them, and being with them for so long, I didn’t even think to miss that part until now. Guilt is something I haven’t missed, but it has started intrude my dreams, after being suffocated for so long. I regret the things I did to those people.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I half-expect Falcon to start judging me as always, but he keeps quiet and I can't read him. I know what he's thinking about me, deep down inside, and I start regretting the second that I actually let him in, my past, my honest thoughts. My confession has left me unbearably uncomfortable. I start raising my defenses back up, regretting every word. "And for once, can we skip the part of you playing Mr. Morality? I remember your look when you first pointed that fucking gun of yours in my face. You wouldn't have hesitated to kill me at all, someone who begged for their life." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You’re right, I wouldn't have. I doubt there's anyone in the Wasteland not willing to get their hands dirty. I’ve killed too many to count, but I always thought it was justified for me. If people attacked me, they ended up dead. If they got in my way, I killed them.” I keep more easily forgetting I’m dealing with an extremely dangerous man. He’s got his own issues with his fucked-up morality, and he deals with his choices just as poorly as me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So, can I finally make you admit that you use chems? How long, what kind?" I blurt out, changing the subject. Falcon sighs again, clearly trying to suppress his frustration. I don't care, I want some answers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You won't let this go, huh?" He makes an attempt to cover his face with his hands, but I grab them forcefully, revealing the bruised skin on his arms, riddled with needle marks. It’s gotten worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Convince me you're not a regular junkie." I move my thumb along the soft skin in his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not a junkie." He looks at me with guilty eyes. Oh, defensive. I hit the "annoy Falcon-nerve" again. I answer with a raised eyebrow, radiating disbelief. "Alright, asshole. I mostly use Jet, Buffout, Med-X, and sometimes Psycho when I can get my hands on it. But I'm not addicted to it. And I don’t use them that often", he says quickly when he sees my expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sure." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I need this stuff! I need to stay sharp when I'm out there, sharp and numb to pain. If you had any idea what I've faced there..." Falcon sounds so guilty when he speaks, like he can't really justify his addictions even to himself. My gaze falls to his chest, riddled with dozen scars and some fresh bruises. I absentmindedly touch a big yellowish bruise on his hip, it looks like he has fallen against some big rocks, probably in a fight against enemies bigger than him. He always picks those fights, if he can choose them. Falcon doesn't shy away from my touch, even when I press my finger into the bruise, turning the surrounding skin white. He just looks at me. I feel like I'm dealing with a freshly tamed animal here. He could flip out on me anytime though. I don't like it. I pull away, the connection feels like too much all of a sudden.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And I started using around the time I met you. First I thought it was going to be just this once- I had to use every option I had, when I got stuck in a cave full with deathclaws. But then I noticed it was so easy... and the symptoms didn't start, I thought what's the harm in using them more... I didn't think they would start ruling my life so much." With every sentence, Falcon's voice has gotten more silent, more thoughtful, more pained. His gaze is turned inwards, I don't know what he's seeing there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It will kill you. You need to stop", I whisper. Something flashes in his brown eyes. Pain? Sorrow? Why do I even care? It's not like I'm innocent, I've used chems and alcohol, I still remember the euphoric feeling after every Med-X-shot. But I used them because I wanted to have fun. Falcon, he doesn't have anything. He's been too afraid to have anything. He fights like a dying man and lives like a dead man, without any ties, attachment. And now I'm the closest thing to a real life he's ever had. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falcon sits up slowly, staying very close to me. He has the weird look, like he's afraid I'll run away at slightest provocation. His breathing comes in short, warm puffs against my lips. He touches my cheek, runs his fingers through the unshaven stubble in my jaw. He finds the scar on my upper lip, and I let him brush his thumb over it. He's memorizing me, every little detail, so he can remember the patterns in his fingertips. This wasn't supposed to go like this. Deep inside, I’m scared, </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my heart clenching, but I can’t move. I want to stay here forever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Only if you stay", he murmurs, not looking at me directly. I search his eyes, but his eyes betray nothing. Falcon's hand drops and suddenly I can breathe. "That talk with Moriarty you had earlier. He was offering you a deal, wasn't he?" Why the hell does everyone have to be so fucking observant around here? It's the last thing I want to think about right now. I force myself to nod.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I would have to be his middleman in exchange for my disappearance." No sense hiding it from him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He's probably trying to kill you after you lead him to the big players. Fewer loose ends." Falcon tries really hard to sound neutral, but his anxiety is betraying him. I can see him swallowing, a plea in his eyes. I nod again, feeling somehow numb at the subject. I thought there might be a catch like that buried in that honey-coated deal of his.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's a rotten deal, whatever I do."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So what are you going to do?" I glance at Falcon, careful not to betray anything to him. I consider it for a moment, telling him everything about Moriarty's threat. I feel really alone in this. No matter what I do, I'm screwed. No matter what I want to do, I'm screwed. But it's my problem, telling him wouldn't solve anything. It would just make matters worse. So I just shrug, looking as confused as I feel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I-I don't know." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, do you want to leave?" There it is again. Badly hidden desperation. I can't look at him. I pretend there's something interesting in the palm of my hand. I wish someone else had all the answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't know." My words just fade away. Not like this. I don't want to leave like this. But I can't say it. We're both as hopeless. Falcon lifts my chin gently, and his features have changed into the most soft expression I've ever seen on his face. And he kisses me. Like a lover. We could be like this, I realize, when he plants a careful kiss on the side of my mouth. Friends instead of rivals. We could be so much more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jose...I..." He murmurs huskily, but I silence him with my eyes. I know what he's going to say, I don't want to hear it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, don't. Don't ruin this." There's a pause in his breathing, and for a moment I fear he's going to pull away. Instead he pulls me into a another kiss, a fiercer one. This time he kisses me like Falcon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>x</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something has happened. I sense it right after stepping into Moriarty's saloon. The place is packed with people, huddled close to each other. I notice the Stahl siblings first, Leo's arm draped over her sister's shoulders, both with grim expressions. I see fear, expectation, detachment, desperation even, flashing in people's faces. Gob is cleaning glasses, his burnt face seemingly emotionless. With his ghoulification it's hard to tell. Everyone is silent. Just listening to radio on the counter, the center of all the attention. It's playing one of those sorrowful songs that all the stations keep on an endless loop. I've heard that song so many times, my ears almost start bleeding when I hear it. The gentle notes caress the heavy, smoky air so innocently. I've got a bad feeling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moira pushes through the crowd when she sees me, flashing a worried smile. She grabs my arm like we're old friends, pressing close. "I thought you'd never come", she whispers, so not to disturb the anxious silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So, what's the news?" Something has happened. Where exactly, I don't know. Yesterday, we heard echoes of explosions, coming from afar, the direction of DC ruins. Really loud explosions, and a lot of them. There's a war going on somewhere, and we don't know anything about it yet. Everyone gathered to see the heavy column of smoke rising from the south on the top of the hill. There was a grim taste of fear in the air. They have seen so many bad things already. I stood separated from the rest of the group. I guess not every time common enemy brings people closer together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"There isn't that much news, they're just waiting on the details. There was a fight, but between whom, and what happened, nobody knows." Her eyes are wide when she shakes her head. Even brave Moira is afraid. I pull her close, give her a little, reassuring squeeze. Our radio broke down, naturally, and somehow it was the unspoken agreement that everyone would gather together to hear the news. So they've been standing by that radio ever since, like it's god's gift for everyone, starving for any news. The transmissions went dead after the explosions, but the connection started working earlier in the morning. After that, it's just been hellish waiting, listening to that radio play the same tracks over and over again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I wonder if Falcon was in that fight. He's probably collecting his spoils after an easy victory. I've been waiting for him to come back ever since he left. Maybe I should've let him finish that sentence back then. Maybe I should've done a lot of things. You can't fix everything like with broken guns, but with people, there's always a second chance. I want him to come home already. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The song stops. The radio goes silent for a heartbeat, and everyone holds their breath. There's so much turmoil in that static stillness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So yo...I apologize for not being able to deliver some news earlier." Threedog's familiar, laid-back voice fills the air. No usual howls, no stupid jokes. Just a serious man, speaking to the anxious masses. He holds immense power in his hands right now, the power to give hope or despair. "Probably some of you already know, there was a little showdown in the DC ruins. It goes like this, our brothers and sisters in the Brotherhood of Steel went all out to meet the Enclave in an open battle. I wasn't there myself, but I can tell you... from where I looked, things looked pretty heated down there. I will tell the details of the fight later, and the only thing you need to hear is this; the Brotherhood won and the Enclave is destroyed." A sigh goes around the saloon like a wave. It must feel good to be on the winning side. I can't help but feel a little relieved. The Enclave gave me a crippled leg, so fuck them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"However, this was not without cost. So send all of your condolences and sympathies to the ones that got killed in the fight, all of their loved ones, tell them that we respect and are grateful for their sacrifices." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"May God grant them eternal peace..." Manya Vargas mumbles loudly enough for everyone to hear. Some lower their heads respectively. I keep my head high. My pity won't do any stranger no good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Also, I'd like to take a second to talk about the Wasteland's most famed hero, the kid from the vault 101, the guy who has touched each one of our lives in some way. See, I have a message from uh, Sarah Lyons, a commander in the Brotherhood of Steel." You could've heard a needle drop on the floor. The ominous silence continues for a beat, and other people have vanished from my sights, the way I focus on that old, beaten-up radio.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The thing is, he participated in the fight, and... he didn't make it." No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I feel like a cold, heavy weight drapes itself on my body, leaving only numbness in its wake. "Sarah wanted everyone to know that Falcon did it to save everyone else, so no one else should sacrifice themselves." I feel numb. I feel confused. This can't be happening. He wouldn't do that. "He will be missed, mostly by me. Now if he has a gal somewhere waiting for him, give her a big hug and kiss for me. He left big shoes to fill, and the Wasteland needs desperately more people like him. So yo, that's all for today, peace out to all my listeners." The all too familiar notes of "Maybe" fill the air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Maybe you'll think of me when you are all alone…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I can't move. I can't feel. I can't see. I register the world around me but I feel like I'm not part of it. I vaguely feel Moira wrapping her arms around my shoulders, and I answer her hug mechanically, staring blankly at the worn-out wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry, I know you guys were close", she says and I can hear the tears in her voice. She's the type that places the wellbeing of others first. No, it wasn't like that, we just fucked, I want to say, but the words won't come out, as if there was a huge lump stuck in my throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As I stay in her endless embrace, I recall the last time I saw Falcon. He was just getting ready for leaving, packing his ammo, food and god knows what weird equipment on his kitchen table. Dogmeat was sitting next to him, waving his tail happily like always with his master. Still, around me the damned dog always went crazy. I watched him pack in sullen silence, leaning on a dusty shelf full of antique trophies, drinking my morning beer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I remember he took out and inspected every part of his beloved sniper rifle. A new toy of his, found in an abandoned camp. He loved bragging about it. As Falcon was eyeing through the scope, he suddenly stopped, eyes hazy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I need to tell you something. About where I last travelled", he started, looking at his feet. I got the feeling he had wanted to tell me this for awhile then. I raised my bottle mockingly. I was pissed at him, for god knows what. Maybe because he was leaving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Enlighten me then." Falcon gave me a cautionary look, but still continued. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I- I was investigating this ghoul-problem at Tenpenny Tower, and I got lost and ended up near Evergreen Mills." I raised my eyebrows, conjuring up a witty answer, when he suddenly slammed his fist on the table. "Just listen to me for once! I need to..." Falcon broke off in the middle of the sentence, exhaling loudly like he was calming himself down. I didn't like to do as I was told, but I shut up. "I knew there were raiders somewhere around that area, but I found the place by accident. So I set up a perfect place on the cliffs, where I could pick them off one by one. And I looked down with my scope and saw them. And it was the first time I actually looked and realized that they... they were just like everybody else. Some of them were laughing, others were just hanging out with their friends. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't pull the trigger. Anyone of them could've been you." He stopped, voice unsteady. It had been bothering him, I saw it. To question everything you had stood for up until that point, it makes a man desperate. But I was pissed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So what, you're looking for my blessing, is that it? They probably had slaves in there. They were probably as bad as me, or worse. I never said that you should stop killing people all together, for fuck’s sake you’re gonna get yourself killed that way. I just wanted you to stop judging people so easily, most of us are only humans. We’re all fucked up, yourself included." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falcon swallowed, I could see his teeth clenching in a way that spoke of anxiety. He didn't even try to protest, he just tried to take in what I threw him right at his face. Finally he nodded, accepting my words reluctantly. And I couldn't believe it, I actually got through to this guy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So is that some kind of a life lesson for me? Not to be a dick?" He asked dryly. Some of my anger had dissipated and I offered him a lopsided grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You just shouldn't be so goddamn stupid, that's all." I finished my bottle and I stared at the reflection on the glass thoughtfully. "You should take me with you", I said at last, trying to sound nonchalant. Falcon only shook his head, his eyes becoming shrouded, like he had thought about the same thing and found it impossible. I wasn’t one bit surprised by his answer, but it was worth the try. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You can't. Not where I'm going."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I wish I had asked where he was going. I wish I could've gone after him and stopped him. I wish I had understood him. Instead, I told him to go fuck himself, not unkindly, but I wanted him to know exactly how I felt about his decision. I told him maybe I would still be here, when he came back. He just sat there, blank, staring after me. And that was the last I saw of Falcon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I break free of Moira's hold numbly and look around, not seeing anything besides the same, insignificant faces all over again. Some of them look back, some with sympathy. I can't feel a thing. He was the only thing keeping me here. He was a fucking asshole for leaving me here. I’m crumbling to pieces, but held together by only duct tape and sheer willpower. He fucked up my life, and he left me here to collect the little pieces he carved out of me. I’m broken. My heart feels broken. I spot Moriarty in the back, sitting by himself by the table, drinking whiskey. He smirks when he notices me, like he was expecting this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'll take the deal." My voice doesn't sound like my own. It sounds like someone else speaking through me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Consider this a fresh start, friend." I want to tell him I don't care about fresh starts anymore. I want to tell I don't care about anything. Instead, I just blindly follow him to wherever, to whatever he's leading me. I had my life lesson and I ruined it, every little piece of it. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s been seven months and I’m still alive. I have to keep counting the months, to remind I’m still here. For whatever reason, I’m still alive. It seems I’ve been useful to Moriarty, so he hasn’t tried to kill me, yet. Others have tried. I’ve been shot at, ambushed, hunted for. Falcon might have left me broken and in pieces, but if there’s one thing he taught me, it was to survive. So I’ve been surviving, walking into fights like I’m a dead man already. Mostly my days consist of covering miles in the endless expanses of the wasteland, carrying chems from point A to B. I don’t have a home to go back to, and I haven’t set foot in Megaton after the day I left. Sometimes I occupy abandoned houses, sometimes I stay few nights in bigger settlements, using my hard-earned caps to drink myself to stupor or to buy somebody for the night. Anything to take the edge off. Chems, those I haven’t touched. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I try not to think about what else life could be, could’ve been. I try to expel the images of someone walking by my side, or the notions of going back to the raiders. I don’t belong there anymore. I feel like I’m in stasis, just waiting for something. I’m waiting for the day Moriarty finally takes me out of my misery. So I keep walking, knowing I’m marked for death.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moriarty’s men usually leave sizeable backpacks full of chems into an abandoned cottage few miles out of Megaton, and I’ll go pick them up when I’m back from my travel, transporting them whatever location it says on a piece of paper, repeating this on an endless loop. I’m heading there now, wind at my back, walking as briskly as my crippled leg allows me. It’s getting closer to evening, the pale light of the day fading slowly. The cottage comes into view behind a hill, and I sigh in relief. I’ve been walking almost non-stop for three days straight, finally I’ll have time to rest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of a dog barking immediately alerts me, and I grab my rifle. Wild dogs? A sizeable creature is running towards me, but it doesn’t look like it’s about to attack me. I keep it in my sights all the same, finger ready on the hammer. The dog stops twenty feet from me, wagging its tail tentatively. It’s a German shepherd, and vaguely familiar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dogmeat?” I ask disbelievingly, lowering my gun. The dog barks once, before it turns around and starts trotting towards the cabin. I didn’t know the dog was even still alive. Did someone adopt it, after the news came that Falcon wasn’t coming home? Did Moriarty take it? Is he waiting for me back there, or one of his lackeys? I check my ammo; the magazine is full. Taking a deep breath, I keep walking. There’s no use sneaking around now, the dog has alerted everyone of my presence. Might as well just walk straight into the ambush. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a figure on the porch. A lone, armored man sitting there, waiting for me. The dog is sitting next to him. This far I don’t see any guns on him, nor I see any back-up. He gets up, when he spots me, takes a couple of hesitant steps closer. I haven’t even realized I’ve slowed down. My mind is just playing tricks on me. The figure looks familiar, but there’s no way, there’s no fuckin way- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I drop my gun, my hands and my legs suddenly numb. I walk closer, little, shuffling steps. It looks like him, what the fuck is this? My legs stop completely working and I just stand there, looking at the other man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Falcon?” I ask faintly, my voice hardly working. It can’t be, but it is- Falcon, without his annoying fucking mohawk, only a short buzz cut, looking very much alive, a relieved grin on his face. He walks down the stairs, stiffly, and I can spot burns on his face, jawline and neck. He holds his right arm awkwardly, but he’s fucking right </span>
  <em>
    <span>there-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I rush forward, crushing him into my chest, desperate to feel him solid and warm and living against me, and he wraps his arms around me just as tightly. I can more feel than hear him mouthing some words against my skin. “Hey, you”, he manages to rasp out. We stay there for eternity, and I will never let go of him, I won’t, I didn’t even dare to imagine the possibility where I’d get to do this again, he was dead, but he wasn’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He was alive for these seven months, and this whole time I thought he was dead, and he didn’t even try to look for me? Send a word? Announce it somewhere that he was actually very alive? All what I’ve been through these past months, has been really for nothing? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I abruptly push him back, and Falcon stumbles, surprised.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You fucking asshole! I thought you were dead this whole time!” Missing someone, I don’t do well, but anger, I can always go back to anger and it feels like a protective armor on me. All the confusion, joy, sorrow melts away and I have a single point of focus, this smug son of a bitch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And there he is”, Falcon actually rolls his eyes, reigning in his emotions lightning fast, now irritated. I don’t have time to think about my response, I can feel my fist colliding with his jaw, before I even register I’ve hit him. His head snaps back, and I hold my stinging knuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You think this is funny, do you? Coming to fuck up my life again?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why the fuck do you have to be so difficult all the time?!” Falcon almost yells at me, holding his jaw, but making no attempt to fight me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can kindly just fuck off, I don’t have time for your bullshit right now.” I sweep past him, up the stairs, sparing a cursory glance at Dogmeat in case it’s harboring some thoughts to attack me, and I yank the door open hard enough that it almost comes off its hinges. I don’t know what my plan is, </span>
  <em>
    <span>grab the bag and go, hole up inside and not let him inside? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don’t know, but I can hardly see anything through the red haze. Falcon has followed me inside, but I refuse to look at him, instead I start tearing the floorboards messily where the backpack is hidden underneath them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jose. Hey. Listen. Will you just listen to me for a sec, please?” Falcon asks, and something in his tone makes me stop. Kneeling on the floor, I stare at my dirtied, shaky fingers, watching them clench and unclench compulsively. Falcon steps closer, staying in my peripheral vision.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look- I almost died. I don’t even remember how I got out. But I was badly wounded and it took really long time for me to recover. When I finally was well enough to travel, my only thought was to come home and find you, but you weren’t there, like- like you said the last time we saw.” There’s a tiny crack in his voice. “Moira told me, you had just disappeared, right after you heard I was dead. She misses you a whole lot, too. I was sure your disappearance had something to do with Moriarty, but it took me awhile to get him to confess, whether you were even alive. I… might have coerced him a little, but he gave up this place and when you’d be here. I- I almost gave up on you, I never thought I’d see you again. You have no idea, how it makes me feel-” this time his voice completely breaks and he takes a shuddering breath, unable to continue. My lungs feel constricted, and my muscles lock up, but somehow I’m able to get heavily spoken words out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could’ve let me know, somehow. I had say my goodbyes to you, without even knowing what happened. You just- you </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>you were gonna get yourself killed, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>you when you were spending your last minutes with me. And you just fucking left, man. You left me.” I look at him, and this time I can’t stop the tears. They run freely down my cheeks, and I have to bite my trembling lip to stop myself from completely melting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falcon watches me in stunned silence. He takes a step forward, another, kneeling in front of me, never breaking the eye contact. He lifts his hand, soothes the tear tracts with his calloused thumb, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. I let him touch me, run his fingers through the scruffy beard, gentle brushes where he finds new scars on my jaw and forehead. I close my eyes, when it all becomes too much. I’m finally grieving him. I’m finally feeling what I’ve been keeping locked up from the second that one radio transmission made something inside of me die. I thought I lost him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m here now.” Falcon speaks quietly, the only solid thing keeping me together. He’s here now. He’s here. I grab his arm, keep him tethered there, and Falcon leans our foreheads together, warm puffs of air on my face. He matches my breathing, and little by little I start to come back to myself, eyes red and stinging. He doesn’t look any better. I finally find the courage to touch the scars on his face, the scaly, burnt skin that continues down his neck and disappears under his collar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, you’re ugly now”, I breathe out, and surprised laughter bursts out of Falcon, his eyes watery. I’ve never told him, but his smile is one of my favorite things about him; he has a toothy smile, and it makes his eyes crinkle up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You too ashamed to be seen with me from now on?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well what to do you think? You’re beginning to look like a goddamn ghoul”, I joke back, relieved to head back into a more familiar territory. I wipe the tears off my face, feeling way too exhausted, with the beginnings of a headache. Then his question fully registers in my mind. “Wait, what? What are you even saying?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falcon leans back slightly, something akin to nervousness flashing in his features. He licks his lips, hesitant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying that if you still want it, you could come with me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come where?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Anywhere we want to go?” Falcon shrugs, but underneath that watered down offer, I sense hardly contained hope. Something jolts awake in me; I forget my exhaustion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not asking me to settle down with you, right? Be a good trophy wife?” Falcon gives me a withering look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I look like someone who wants to settle down?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s true. You’re too much of a reckless bastard for that. I doubt you’d survive a week without anything to blow up.” I flash him a teasing grin, feeling more like myself with each passing minute. God, I’ve missed ribbing him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like you’re the one to talk. Thanks for punching me, by the way.” Falcon raises his eyebrow, eyes settled on me. He may be joking, but there’s a need in them, like he’s figuring out how to be us again. He holds out his hand, waits for me to take it. There are burns there too, his fingers are stiff, skin tightened and dry. I squeeze his hand, glad for the contact. “Look, we haven’t been exactly easy on each other. I know I’ve hurt you plenty, I’ve been really shitty to you, and you’ve tried to return the favor as much as you can. This, what we are-” he points to me and him, “-is a mess, but I’d still have you by my side out there.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about Moriarty? I can’t just bail on him. He’s gonna kill me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I say fuck him. We can deal with him later.” Falcon looks at me with such certainty in his eyes. Fuck his arrogant, hot ass. There’s no way I can resist someone waving their middle finger at danger. I pull him forward for a rough kiss, hands framing his face, and Falcon is right on board, lips crashing against mine, wet, crude kisses, dragging me closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine, I’m in. You had me at fuck”, I breathe out between the kisses, and he smiles against my lips. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If there's one thing I hate, it's MCD. So I fixed it 8 years later, BOOM.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>